


Adrift

by Jane Elliot (JaneElliot)



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Past Child Abuse, Pegging, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 72,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneElliot/pseuds/Jane%20Elliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Liz, after Reddington, after Berlin, after the boat, after Christof Mannheim...  after everything, Tom Keen is just trying to figure out who he is.  Liz is not helping.  Or maybe she's everything.</p><p>How do normal people deal with this shit, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Totally self-indulgent nonsense. No promises of coherency, as I'm basically letting my (surprisingly kinky, at the moment) id out to play. Tags and warnings will be added as applicable.
> 
> Note that this starts after Tom turns himself in to the court in season 2 and goes AU after the season 2 finale.

There are times when Tom fantasizes about Liz being his handler.

He stands in front of her, parade rest, and gives his report. She sits at her desk, a large, imposing monolith, and listens intently, jotting a note or two. Debriefs are rare in his line of work, usually coming after the end of a long mission, so he's standing and talking for a long time, feeling his back start to tighten and his knees try to lock. By the time he's done, his throat his sore and his voice rough.

Liz writes one last note, taking her time with it, then puts her pen down and closes the report folder. When she looks up her head is tilted just so, and the corners of her mouth are slightly curled. Tom feels a jolt, his body reacting to her satisfaction.

"This is nice work," she says, standing up from the desk. She's wearing a black skirt so short that he can almost see her fringe, and tight enough that it's clear she's not wearing anything underneath.

Tom swallows hard. Behind his back, his fingers curl up into fists.

Liz steps around to the front of the desk and jumps up to sit on the edge. Her knees are pressed demurely together, but with a skirt that short it doesn't matter. "Come here."

Tom goes. Without having to be told, he drops to his knees before her and she spreads her legs to give him space to work. She's already wet, and the musky, sour flavor is both comforting and exciting, memories of leisurely Sunday morning sex rubbing up against that time he'd gone down on her in the back of a dance club on their one month anniversary. It taken a lot of talking to get her to agree to it, but as she’d leaned back against the wall he'd felt her whole body shivering with anticipation. She'd come in under a minute.

She's not shivering now. Now he's the one who's fighting to stay under control as he buries his tongue as deep as he can, his nose pressing up against her clit. Her hands run through his hair, nails gently scratching against his scalp and if she asked him at this moment, he'd kill for her.

Instead, those hands abruptly tighten, pulling his head back sharply. "Enough."

Tom immediately leans back, still on his knees and careful not to pull too far away until she releases his hair.

"Good boy," she murmurs. "Now strip."

Things get hazy at that point, in the way of fantasies. When the scene sharpens again, he's naked and Liz has strapped on a harness. She's still wearing her skirt and it bunches up over the top edge of a bright blue dildo.

In real life, Liz had fingered Tom a couple of times during blowjobs, but they’d never gotten much more adventurous. It wasn’t even something they’d ever talked about. Tom Keen, elementary school teacher, did not do anal sex, and as long as she got what she wanted, Liz wasn’t too pushy about Tom’s boundaries.

Honestly, Tom hadn’t even been aware that there were boundaries to be pushed when they’d been married. His fantasies back then had involved him telling her everything and her agreeing to run off with him, away from Reddington and Berlin and everything else terrible in their lives.

It wasn’t until he’d been chained up in that boat for two months that he started having fantasies about Liz being his handler. They’d started relatively innocuous. They hadn’t stayed that way for long.

In his current fantasy, Liz bends him over the desk. It’s so large that he can’t even reach the other side with his fingers, leaving himself pressed up against the cool wood without any sort of leverage. Slick fingers press into him and he groans. When they’d done this in real life the fingers had caused a bit of a burn, but in his fantasy all he can feel is a stretch that makes his back arch.

“Don’t move,” Liz says sharply and he flattens himself back down on the desktop. The fingers work him for a few minutes, and it feels like his entire world has narrowed down to those two slim fingers rubbing against his skin.

Finally, the fingers pull away. “Ready?” Liz asks, but the blunt silicone head is already pressing up against him and she doesn’t wait for an answer before she starts pushing in.

Even in his fantasy this hurts, but that’s part of what makes it so good. His chest scrapes against the wood with every thrust, his hands scrabbling for traction, but finding none as Liz reams him.

“You’re mine,” she says, and she’s holding his hips so tight that her fingernails are digging into his skin. He can already feel the bruises starting under her fingers and his skin is rubbing raw against the surface of the desk and he’s never felt so fucking _owned_ in his entire life.

“Liz.”

“ _Don’t talk_.” The next thrust is vicious.

“Liz, please.” His hips are now slamming against the edge of the desk, his cock rubbing up underneath. He can feel pre-come dripping down the head and he’s so hard his balls ache. “Please, I have to come.”

In response, she pulls out entirely.

“No,” he whimpers. “I’m sorry, don’t...”

“Hands and knees. Now.”

Tom scrambles off the desk and nearly collapses; he has no strength left in his knees. For a few moments all he can do is stand there, trying to recover enough not to hurt himself falling to the cement floor. Liz stands a few feet away, neither helping nor rushing him. Her artificial cock glistens in the florescent lights.

His legs finally begin to cooperate and Tom sinks down to the floor, the concrete feeling like ice under his hands and knees. He spreads his legs, the space between them loose and strangely empty.

Nothing happens for a long time. Tom can’t hear anything except the rasping of his breath. His body begins to tremble.

When Liz finally touches him, her fingers burn like a brand as they wrap around his hips. “Are you going to behave now?”

Tom’s eyes sting sharply and he blinks rapidly a few times and clears his throat before answering. “Yes.”

The fingers tighten sharply. “Yes _what_?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He’s barely finished speaking before Liz thrusts into him again. 

The strokes are long and smooth now and without the desk holding him in place, Tom rocks into them. 

“Please,” he whimpers with each thrust, unable to keep his promise, unable to behave. “Please.”

An arms wraps around him, the white satin of Liz’s blouse feeling like silk against his skin. Her right hand, calloused from hours on the shooting range, grasps his cock. “You don’t come until I say,” she tells him, her hand already moving.

“Okay. Okay. _Please_.” His balls are tight against his body now, and he bites his lip hard, using the pain to hold himself back.

The moment he stops talking, Liz’s free arm wraps around his chest. “Sit up,” she says, pulling him upright, and he lifts himself up, sinking down even farther on the artificial cock. It’s pressing up against something deep inside him, but Liz’s other hand is still stripping his cock and he finds himself thrusting into her grip, even though it means moving on that silicone rod. Every movement is a transcendent mix of pain and pleasure and he can taste blood now as he bites even harder into his lip.

“You’re _mine_ ,” Liz says again, her fingers gripping even tighter. “ _Say it_.”

Tom can feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but he lets go of his lip. “I’m yours.”

Liz wraps her arm even tighter around his chest. “Good boy. Now come.”

His balls draw up to the point of pain and his ass clenches around the silicone as his entire body tightens in climax. A second later and the pleasure rushes through him and he screams as come spurts out of his cock and showers over Liz’s hand, covering that tiny bit of her as he feels her body wrapped around his own.

“ _Mine _!” Liz hisses with one last brutal thrust.__

“Yours,” Tom murmurs and his upper body collapses to the floor. As Liz pulls out of him, leaving a aching soreness behind, he adds, “I love you.” 

Even in his fantasies, she never says it back. 


	2. Confusion

He woke up to the alarm on his phone going off and it took him a moment to remember where he was. Uncomfortable cot. Scratchy blankets. Echoing walls.

The warehouse, that was it. The one he’d used to hide his spy life while married to Liz. People knew about the warehouse, which made it a risk, but Tom knew the building inside and out and there was at least one cache of desperately needed supplies that the FBI didn’t find during Liz’s search. It also had clean running water and electricity, both of which had been necessary for him to patch himself up.

Despite making use of his med kit last night, he hurt like hell. The Germans had done their job well, and even with the stitches he put in his leg it was going to be a challenge not to walk with a limp. His face didn’t look much better; if he went out on the streets right now, he’d likely get stopped and questioned by the police.

At the same time, he couldn’t stay. He’d already burned his useless passports and without those... Well, fuck. Without those, he was completely screwed, because if the passports were burned, so was everything associated with those passports. That meant no driver’s licenses, no ID, no credit cards – he wouldn’t be able to get himself a hotel room, much less buy a plane ticket or rent a car.

Shit.

Okay. He could do this – a couple of years of comfortable living didn’t erase a lifetime of hardscrabble survival. First, he needed money. Cash for now; he couldn’t run the risk of someone tracking him with a stolen credit card. Then, alternate digs. This city was riddled with abandoned structures; the key was to finding one that still had running water. Electricity was nice, but water was essential. He wouldn’t be able to stay invisible for long if he started smelling. New clothes would be necessary, too – right now his tattoos were highly visible, which could be problematic. At least he wasn’t still in Germany; there the SS tattoo was like a neon sign declaring him a neo-Nazi. No one had even commented on the tattoo in the US, though he had noticed one or two people giving him a wary second look.

After that there was food and transportation and communications gear and weapons and that wasn’t even considering the cost of new passports. Those could run ten grand, easy, and that was assuming he could find a forger that wouldn’t just turn him over to the Major.

For a long moment, Tom felt weary. It had been a long time since he’d been in shit this deep. The Major, Berlin, Reddington... Tom hadn’t just been burning bridges, he’d been torching whole swaths of the underworld. All of his contacts, all of his assets – everything he’d had was gone.

Everything except Liz. Not that he had Liz, either. From the moment she’d found his go kit—

His go kit. Full of passports from Berlin. Neither the Major nor Reddington had seen those passports, and while Reddington knew about them, he’d had much bigger things to worry about than passports that were outside Tom’s control.

Outside Tom’s control, but not outside Liz’s.

***

The first thing Tom had done when he’d gotten back stateside was find out where Liz was living. The hotel room was frankly depressing; apparently a Holiday Inn was above the pay grade of a government salary for a long-term stay. This place was barely a step up from a flea pit with hourly rates; frankly, Tom preferred his warehouse.

There was also no sign of Hudson. Tom wondered who ended up with his dog. Hopefully Liz hadn’t just dumped him at the pound.

As the hours passed, it became clear why Hudson wasn’t around anymore. Long hours hadn’t been unheard of when Tom and Liz had been married – and Tom couldn’t help but think about the ultrasound picture that was still in his wallet, about the baby that belonged to someone else now – but it had been really rare for her to get home this late.

Finally, he heard footsteps outside and, moving silently, he got into position. Liz was probably going to attack him immediately, so he had to be close enough to keep her from shooting him outright. At least he had a chance with hand-to-hand.

Except... she didn’t attack him immediately. Hell, she didn’t even notice he was there, even when he was close enough to reach right past her and shut the door. She gasped and he started shushing her. If she screamed, it wouldn’t be long before the police came.

Liz didn’t scream. Or attack. In fact, as he pulled the blinds shut and turned on the light, he found himself unsettled by how well this was going.

Liz really dug her heels in about getting him the passports, though. He tried asking, he tried begging, he tried vulnerability, he even tried a tidbit of truth. None of it worked.

Getting desperate, he offered to take the passports in exchange for leaving Liz alone forever. He wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to keep that promise, but it didn’t matter. Liz still said no.

Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe Liz wasn’t giving him the passports because subconsciously she didn’t want him to leave. Or maybe she just didn’t care enough about him to break the law on his behalf. No matter that Tom had broken the law for her. No matter that Tom had turned himself in for her.

Prison wouldn’t have been that bad. A couple of days of violence to establish his place among the prisoners, a week or two of work to ingratiate himself with the guards. It wouldn’t have been wonderful, but it wouldn’t have been that bad, either. Certainly much less confusing.

Once upon a time, Liz had not been confusing. When they’d first met, it had been so easy to work his way into her life. Easy to make her comfortable in his presence, easy to spend time with her. Honestly, it was one of the easiest jobs he’d ever had; Liz was fun to be around and as long as he was in her presence he didn’t have any extra work to do. A lifetime of danger had honed his situational awareness skills to the point that he already tracked any danger in his immediate surroundings.

He still wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. Maybe it was all that time they spent together, which made his job easier, but also meant that he spent more time with Liz than with most of the women he’d dated undercover. Maybe it was the fact that there was no end date to keep him focused. Tom had never taken an indefinite undercover assignment before. Never faced the possibility of a lifetime with another person.

Or maybe it had to do with the unusual nature of the job. Tom was a hell of a lot more expensive than a bodyguard, and the people willing to spend that kind of money usually weren’t doing it for altruistic reasons. Some of the time his job was to gather information, secrets that his mark didn’t want the world to know. Mostly that information was used for blackmail. Occasionally he was used for discreet assassinations, gaining the target’s trust and then taking her to a remote kill site. Once he’d been tasked with leaving a woman at the altar; her former boyfriend had been wealthy and carried a hell of a grudge.

In all of those cases, Tom had managed to get close to the target and to make her truly believe that he was the man that she thought he was. Part of doing that was making _himself_ believe the lie, telling it over and over again until it was the truth. Even so, there had always been a small part of himself that he kept separate, the part that needed to be ready and able to attack when the time came, and to destroy all of that trust he’d spent so long building.

Except with Liz there was no need to hold part of himself separate. He was never going to need to attack her. His entire job was to keep her safe. And he did that job, with everything he had, until suddenly it wasn’t a job anymore. It was his life.


	3. Survival

Tom was still working on a convincing argument to get Liz to help him when she threw open the door to find Reddington on the other side.

Reddington pulled a gun, which wasn’t surprising, though it was a bit surprising that he didn’t pull the trigger immediately. Maybe he was too worried about hitting Liz.

Then _Liz_ pulled a gun on _Reddington_ , and Tom’s world shifted on its axis. Liz pulling a gun on Reddington had to mean something. Maybe it was instinct, but the gun was still up. Was she finally starting to understand what a risk Reddington was? Or did she just not want to have to explain how her recently exonerated ex-husband ended up dead in her room?

Maybe part of her didn’t want her recently exonerated ex-husband to _end up_ dead in her room. That would be progress.

It was easy to answer Red's accusations; reflected blame was Tom's default approach with Reddington and it worked doubly well with Liz there as witness. Keeping his eyes locked on Reddington made sure that no one would guess at the turbulence in Tom's mind.

Still, the moment he could do so without looking like he was running away, Tom took the chance to get out of that space. He could handle the anger and the guns and the danger, but Liz standing up for him? He just didn't know how he was supposed to respond to that.

He distracted himself from his thoughts by mugging a guy a few blocks off from a popular nightclub. Nothing fancy, just a blow to the back of the head in that sweet spot that would knock the man out for an hour or two, but wouldn't kill him. It was a bit of a risk, leaving the target behind, but Tom didn't think Liz would understand him killing the man for his wallet, and for some reason it seemed really important that he not do anything that would upset Liz.

There was a good amount of cash in the wallet, along with a couple of credit cards. Tom pocketed the money and considered the cards for a moment before taking the less visible one. He put the wallet back in the man's pocket and headed for the nearest train station. At minimum, he had an hour before this card was reported stolen. He could do a lot in an hour.

***

A couple of hours later he was back at the warehouse, hands full of plastic bags and stolen credit card safely discarded in a trash can several miles away.

Unpacking the bags didn’t take long. Food, soap, fresh clothes -- he'd been limited by what he could reasonably carry on the train, but at least he had enough to hold him over until the worst of the bruising went down on his face.

The clothes were a disappointment. He'd hoped to find something to cover his SS tattoo, but either collars were lower than he remembered or the artist had gone a bit higher than he'd expected, because the tattoo was visible at the top edge of a button down shirt. That just made it more noticeable, so he'd opted instead for a couple of t-shirts. 

He'd been too caught up in everything with Liz to be thinking clearly before, but his time as Christof Mannheim was going to impact what he could do going forward. There was a chance that the tattoos could be removed, but no guarantees, and scarring was possible. If they weren't able to be removed without a trace, his old career was over. No one was going to hire a guy with Nazi tattoos to play a boyfriend or fiance or lover. 

For some reason, he felt lighter at the thought, which made no sense, since he didn't have a lot of other career options open to him. Not that he _had_ to work, strictly speaking. If he could get his hands on a clean passport, he had an account offshore, one that no one, not even the Major, knew about. The problem was the account was secured with biometrics, which he'd chosen at the time because it wouldn't require him to tie account access to a specific name. Unfortunately, it also meant he could only access the money in person.

Which was why he had to convince Liz to get those passports for him. With one of those passports he could disappear into a new life in under a day. Without a passport... well, without it he'd be stuck here for weeks at best. More likely months or even years.

He wondered how Liz would feel if he disappeared tomorrow. Would she be relieved? Grateful? Happy?

It was probably too much to hope that she'd be sad, but maybe she'd miss him. After all, they'd had years together – almost three years, if you included the months she'd kept him on the boat. That had to mean something, didn't it?

He thought about that over the next couple of days, as he decided to keep the warehouse after all and started to make it habitable. It kept his mind occupied as he worked his way through the essentials: securing the entry points, setting up traps for intruders, and strategically distributing his much diminished weapons supply.

He took time to work on his bruises as well: ice on the first day and heat after that, along with gently massaging the injured areas with vinegar. It was annoying and time consuming, but it worked. After a few days, the bruises would be almost gone.

His initial plan had been to improve his appearance by shaving, but after consideration he changed his mind. There wasn’t much point in attracting anyone in this neighborhood; far more productive to preemptively scare them off. Between the bruises, the tattoos, and the stubble, he looked dangerous enough to be able to walk around unmolested. That was useful: he had no doubt he could win a fight against any of the local thugs, but a fight would bring unwanted attention.

After two days, there wasn’t much more he could do at the warehouse and his food was starting to run low. He put on layers, including a hoodie to hide the worst of his still-fading bruises, and headed out to make some money.

He starting thinking about long-term planning as he picked pockets in the business district—

(...clothes with a really high collar or maybe a scarf, then head to the airport. International terminal. Target businessmen showing up closer to boarding, less likely to use their wallet before getting on the plane. Use the credit cards at the airport to buy high end goods to resell. Bring the cards back into the city; sell them before they could be reported stolen. Save a couple to buy more clothes. Discard after six hours or less. Fencing would be tough, but he still had a couple of contacts that might be able to connect him to...)

—when his phone rang. He glanced down at the screen and stopped dead in the street.

Realistically, it was stupid of him to even be carrying this phone any more. The Major probably had the number and Reddington _undoubtedly_ had the number, which meant that someone could be tracking it at any moment. But it was the only number Liz had for him, and if he gave up the phone, she wouldn’t have any way to reach him. No matter how unlikely it was that she would call him, he couldn’t bear to cut off that opportunity.

Apparently he'd made the right call. 

Tom put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”


	4. Beginnings

The hotel room felt different now that Tom had been invited in. Less sleazy, more comfortable. He sat down on the bed, discreetly testing its firmness.

Not bad. Better than the camp cot he’d slept on the last couple of nights.

Liz was currently in the furthest corner of the room. Tom could understand the appeal of having a wall at your back; it was instinct to limit the number of directions from which you could be attacked. Unfortunately, putting yourself in a corner also tended to put you further away from an exit, which was why the Major had spent a lot of time retraining Tom’s instincts.

Liz clearly never had that advantage; she was so far in that corner that she’d actually tucked herself in behind the dresser. If Tom attacked her, she wouldn’t be able to put up even a minimal fight without hitting the walls or the furniture. Her body language was even worse: she was clearly trying to convey casualness by pushing her shoulders back and putting her hands in her pockets, but her shoulders ended up around her ears and her torso was constantly turned away from him. For someone who read people for a living, she might as well have been screaming _uncomfortable_.

Tom did what he could to keep her from feeling any more threatened than she already was. He stayed on the bed, which put his head lower than hers and gave her the advantage of height. It also kept him from being directly between her and the door, so her exit was clear. After a moment he put his hands on his knee, which helped to round his shoulders, making him look smaller.

None of that worked to make Liz relax and Tom found himself tensing up in response. This wasn’t the Liz that he remembered from the boat. This wasn’t even the Liz he remembered from his marriage. Whoever this woman was, she definitely wasn’t his Liz.

So he found himself pushing. He ignored her questions about shelf corporations and asked about Reddington instead, pushing those buttons, trying to figure out what was going on between them.

When she pushed right back, Tom felt a twinge of relief. It must’ve felt right to her as well, because she finally came out from that corner to hand him a piece of paper. When she stepped back against the wall her body language was more confident, closer to actual casualness. 

This time when Tom tried to prevaricate, she cut him off at the knees. He had to fight the smile that was twitching at his lips when he offered to talk to his contacts and when she pushed back, he gave up and let the smile through as he offered up a compromise.

Spending an afternoon driving around with Liz? Tom had never been more grateful for his decision to steal a nice car for their little meeting. No matter what indifference Liz pretended, Sam had instilled in her a love of American automobiles, and as they rode in that beautiful blue Mustang around town, he could see her reluctant admiration.

Truthfully, Tom knew exactly which contact he needed to tap from the moment Liz said “shelf corporations”, but there was no reason for Liz to know that and they spent an hour driving around and hitting up random contacts. That served a couple of purposes. One, he could get a feel for who was still trustworthy and who was looking for a payday from the Major. It was good to have Liz there, because she kept anyone from making a spontaneous grab.

Two, it got Liz to calm the fuck down. By the fourth stop she had stopped staring at street signs with the rigid gaze that meant she was trying to memorize their route and by the fifth stop she finally relaxed into her seat.

The sixth stop was the real stop, and it was worth bringing Liz along just to see the look on her face when Ziggy came wheeling over with a grin on her face.

Talking Ziggy around wasn’t too difficult – no favor on earth was going to top him putting the man who’d paralyzed her into the ground and he’d done it gratis at the time, because it never hurt to have a middleman in your pocket. Liz did a pretty good job of playing along. Saying she was his ball and chain – that was only true if she still considered them married, right?

He tried pushing for more as they left Ziggy’s place, but Liz was already on the phone with that dick that had showed up in Germany with Reddington. Tom gritted his teeth, but got into the car silently, biding his time.

After ten minutes of driving – Liz was staring out the window again, but this time she merely looked thoughtful – Tom tried again. “You know, I’m no worse than your buddy Reddington.”

He wasn’t surprised when that started an argument. Though he was pretty incredulous when Liz had the gall to claim that Reddington had never lied to her.

Pissed off at that point, he launched into a story about buying a boat. It wasn’t a spontaneous story – he’d used it on earlier assignments; women loved the fantasy of life on a boat in a tropical paradise – and he wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reaction he wanted. All he knew was that Liz had just chosen Reddington over him and he needed to find some way to make it clear to her that he didn’t give a shit.

Except... the more he told of the story, the better it sounded. Sun, sand, and a thousand miles of ocean between him and anyone who wanted to kill him? Maybe there was such a thing as paradise.

All Liz said was, “You don’t even know how to swim.”

In point of fact, while _Tom Keen_ couldn’t swim – another vulnerability to make him appealing to a woman who’d chosen a career saving people – Jacob Phelps was a perfectly adequate swimmer. On the other hand, Tom had already given up so much of his former life for Liz – his career, his handler, his _name_ , even in his own head – that it wasn’t difficult to accept one more small loss.

“I know.” He thought a little more about that paradise, about the freedom and the safety. About being a thousand miles from Liz. “But I can learn,” he finally added.

When Tom looked over, he found Liz staring right back.


	5. Lies

When Liz handed over the passports, the first thing Tom felt was relief. The next was realization: this could very well be the last time he ever saw Liz.

He managed to accept that for almost a full second before he wrenched his door open. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Liz stopped and turned around and Tom realized two things. First, he was not nearly ready to let Liz go. Second, he had no idea what to say.

So he scrambled. Stuttered something about starting over and becoming something else.

Liz pointed out that that’s what he does for a living, which was fair. At the same time, they both knew he didn’t mean a new identity or a new con. He meant something real. Honest. 

Whatever the fuck that was.

When Liz asked him if he could be honest, he didn’t know how to answer. What did honesty even mean? Did it mean Tom Keen, the man who loved Elizabeth Keen and might possibly be ready to give up a life of constant deception? Or did it mean Jacob Phelps, a miserable teenager looking at a life of petty crime before he was picked up by a strange man and turned into the ultimate chameleon?

Tom could barely remember what his life was like as Jacob. No one even used that name anymore for him, aside from the Major, and the Major was doing everything he could to put a bullet in Tom’s head.

“Tom,” Liz started, which answered one question, at least. Except then she went on to say that their marriage couldn’t have all been pretend, and Tom had no idea if she was right.

What did it mean that he was still carrying around that ultrasound of the baby? What did it mean that he kept thinking about their missing dog? What did it mean that he was standing here talking to Liz, when he had a pocket full of passports and a stolen car that was getting hotter by the second?

At the same time, when she told him he wasn’t good enough of an actor to fool her, he knew that wasn’t true. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that given sufficient time and information, he could convince anyone of anything.

Hell, he’d already managed to convince himself that he was in love with Elizabeth Keen. Even after everything that had gone on between them, he still would run away with her in an instant.

“You were my greatest failure as a profiler,” she said.

“You were my greatest success,” he answered. She didn’t seem to notice that he was lying. He followed it up with a truth. “You made me feel, for a moment, like I had a life and that somebody cared.”

Liz stared at him, not recognizing the difference between the truth and the lie.

Tom looked down. He loved Liz and her strength and her stubbornness and her subtle sadistic streak, but none of that could cover up the fact that she was actually a pretty shitty profiler.

“So this is me being honest,” he lies.

“Can you be honest about the passports?”

No. No he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to preserve the detente he had with Reddington, and since he was invested in keeping all of his body parts intact, he wasn’t about to piss off Reddington.

Judging from the look on Liz’s face, she knew he was going to lie before he even opened his mouth. That being the case, he didn’t bother trying very hard.

He immediately regretted it when Liz turned and walked away.

Tom swore silently to himself and chased Liz down. “I can’t. Not about this.”

“That’s not how the truth works,” Liz answered, and if she was that fucking invested in the whole truth and nothing but the whole truth, then her belief in Reddington’s unwavering honesty was even more ridiculous.

Unfortunately, that didn’t change the fact that Tom _could not_ say anything. “It’s going to be a nice boat,” he offered helplessly.

Liz reached and out and for a moment he thought he’d somehow magically said the right thing when she leaned in and kissed him. He closed his eyes and kissed back with everything that he had. “What was that?” he whispered when she pulled away.

“That was goodbye.”

Liz turned and walked away, never looking back.

All Tom could do was stand there and watch her leave.


	6. Dreams

He’s on the boat, lying on his mattress and huddling under the flimsy blanket Liz had given him. The blanket smells like her, even though it still carries a tag from a discount store. He pulls a corner of the blanket up to his nose and breathes deep.

The door suddenly clangs open. Tom turns over, too exhausted and too cold to stand up, but not quite able to keep his back turned.

Liz is there at the top of the steps. She’s wearing shorts and a soft sweater, so different from the dark layers she’s had on during her last visits, and her expression is pleased. “The information you gave me on Berlin’s accountant panned out.”

Tom freezes. Damn it, that information wasn’t supposed to pan out. It was supposed to send Liz on another wild goose chase, to buy him a little bit more time to figure out a way out of this hellhole. “Did you catch him?”

“We did. Berlin’s in a cell right now, waiting to be interrogated.”

Tom forces himself up until he’s sitting on the mattress. “And me?”

Liz smiles. It’s gentle and warm, nothing like what he expects. “You did very well. I think it’s time for a reward.”

“Like letting me go?”

“Oh, Tom.” Liz comes down the steps and moves right up into his personal space. She puts her hand on his cheek and her skin is so soft. So warm. “Tom, I think you know that you’re never getting out of here.”

“I’m not?” he whispers, his face turning helplessly into her hand.

“No. But don’t worry. I’ll be right here with you.”

In the back of his mind, Tom can feel that there’s something wrong with that statement, but all he can do at the moment is breathe in Liz’s scent and soak in her touch. “What do you want with me?”

“To take care of you. For better or worse, right?”

“Right.” His brain isn’t working right. He feels drugged by Liz, surrounded by her sight and smell and voice and touch. He longs to open his mouth and taste her, but he’s afraid she’ll pull back if he pushes too hard. He’s learned the hard way that sometimes the risks outweigh the rewards.

He’s shuddering now, whole body shakes that he can feel down to his bones. 

“Cold?” Liz asks, carefully lifting up the blanket and tucking it around him more fully.

“No,” Tom answers, but that’s not the truth. “Yes.” But that’s not the truth either. “Liz, please...”

“Shh.” Liz puts a finger on his lips, then leans forward and kisses him. For a second this kiss is strangely familiar, carrying a ghost of goodbye, but the moment passes and he kisses her back

Well, he tries to kiss her back, anyway. The moment his lips move, she pulls away.

“Ah-ah,” she chides. “Did I tell you you could kiss me back?”

Tom closes his eyes, resting his head on her shoulder. He’s so weary. “No.”

A hand starts stroking Tom’s arm, so gentle and soft through the blanket. “Are you going to behave now?”

“Yes,” he answers, fighting down the urge to press even closer to her. “Whatever you want, yes.”

“Good boy.” The hand on his arm disappears, but only for a second. It reappears between his legs, stroking his cock the same way it had been stroking his arm. Tom groans loudly.

“You like that.” Liz sounds amused.

“Of course I do.” How long has it even been? Not in Germany – he was in too much pain to touch himself, much less let someone else do it. Not on the boat – Liz would have used it against him. Before that – well, before that they had sex often, but the last time had felt wrong at the time and, looking back, he thinks she must’ve known. About him. Maybe even about Berlin.

It kills him that their last time had been a lie.

“Whatever you want, Liz.” Tom has to stop and gasp for breath before he can continue. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I know you will.” Tom can feel the brush of Liz’s hair against the side of his neck as she shifts. A moment later, he groans again as Liz bites the top of his ear. “Don’t say anything,” she whispers into his ear once she lets it go. “Don’t do anything. Let me take care of you.”

Tom closes his eyes and tilts his chin, nodding slightly against Liz’s shoulder. Those slender fingers are unzipping his pants and he has to grit his teeth to hold back a groan.

“Good boy,” she says again and suddenly a slim hand is wrapped around his cock and the entire world falls away.


	7. Next Steps

The moment he woke up, Tom knew that, for better or worse, he wasn’t going to Micronesia. Not without Liz.

Still, there were things he needed to do if he ever wanted to go anywhere with Liz. Most importantly, he needed money, a lot of money. Enough to buy a boat. Even if Liz never went for it, the more Tom thought about the boat, the more he liked the idea. Marinas didn’t have TSA agents and they had minimal surveillance for law enforcement to monitor. Some of the shadier ones had no surveillance at all, and outside of official ports customs was a joke.

There were some downsides – boats were slow, required frequent resupply, and were at the mercy of the ocean – but for an ex-con who had managed to piss off nearly every law enforcement agency _and_ most major criminal organizations, a boat was quite possibly the safest way to travel.

Biggest downside of boats was that they were expensive. Once he managed to get out of the country money wouldn’t be a problem, but he was going to have to hustle if he was going to get enough money for a last minute plane ticket to the Caribbean. And he had to hurry. With the way things were going, he didn’t want to risk leaving Liz alone for any longer than absolutely necessary.

With time now a more important factor than low risk, Tom headed out to one of the higher end malls in the area and positioned himself near the ATM, keeping his hood up and his head turned away from the security camera in the corner. It took nearly thirty minutes for the right mark to come along, but he walked out with four hundred dollars and a really nice watch that might be useful for bribes. Not bad. Three or four more scores like these and he’d have enough.

Whistling slightly under his breath, he headed for the banking district.

***

A flight to Saint Marie wasn’t available for love or money when Tom arrived at the airport, so he bought a one-way ticket for Guadeloupe instead. It meant a twenty hour flight route that headed north to Toronto before picking up a plane south, but the next best option was Dominica, which was just south of Saint Marie, and that would take nearly forty hours.

At least Tom would be chartering a direct flight back.

Twenty hours was a long time to be away from Liz, though, and Tom found himself fidgeting through the first flight. The wait in Toronto was interminable and he was the first person in line to board the second flight.

His tattoos helped him there; the woman sitting next to him kept eyeing him askance and as soon as they finished boarding she shifted back several rows to an empty seat. Tom smiled wryly and turned his attention to the view outside the window.

The amusement barely lasted through liftoff. All he could think about was Liz, alone in that city, trusting Reddington despite missing some really important information. Information that Tom had and could have shared.

Maybe it was time to rethink his silence. On everything.


	8. Saint Marie

Tom didn’t have the money for a chartered flight from Guadeloupe to Saint Marie and the scheduled flight wasn’t until the next day, so he opted for the ferry. It felt small for a boat that was moving through the open ocean, but if he was really going to buy a boat of his own, he’d have to get used to the sensation of being a tiny speck in a vast watery wilderness.

The trip took about an hour; for nearly a quarter of that there was no land to be seen in any direction.

Yeah, that was going to take some getting used to.

Saint Marie itself looked much as it always had. The air was thick with salt, the trees were lush and growing like weeds, and the market was colorful and chaotic. Tom made his way through the chaos, doing his best to ignore all of the shouting. Fortunately, despite his white skin marking him out as a tourist, his ragged clothes and still-fading bruises deterred most of the vendors and by the time he reached the small bank with its discreet brass sign, he had shaken anyone who might’ve thought him a person of interest.

The bank itself was air-conditioned to near arctic levels, and the cold air felt fantastic after the soup of humidity outside. Tom paused a moment to soak it all in and to take in the interior, checking for changes and dangers. He didn’t find either, though the only other customer in the building – a bony white woman with carefully coiffed hair and a string of pearls around her neck – looked at him askance.

Fortunately the staff were professionals and went about their business as if Tom wasn’t there, except for a white man with an expensive suit, who came over and smiled genially. “How may I help you, monsieur?”

Tom returned the smile with one of his own, projecting subdued wealth with everything he had. “I’m here to access my account, number 12-936923.”

The man’s eyes widened slightly. Probably not that many people had biometric accounts. Still, his professional face stayed firmly in place as he gestured Tom over to a small office in the back.

It took about fifteen minutes to go through all of the checks: blood typing, fingerprinting, and retinal scan. At the end of it, Tom was handed a withdrawal slip.

He’d spent much of the flight figuring out how much money to withdraw – this bank was difficult to get to, but his money was safer here than it would be anywhere else in the world, so he’d keep the bulk at the bank. Still, he needed enough money to buy a boat and equip her, and to buy enough fuel to be able to get from the northeast all the way back down to the Caribbean. Not to mention the cost of weapons, forged documents for Liz, and bribes.

The boat would run around two hundred thousand. Tom took out three hundred thousand, just to be safe.

Demonstrating exactly why Tom chose this bank over any other in the world, the man in the suit didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the amount, just asked, “Will you be needing a briefcase?”

“Please,” Tom said. “And if you have someone who can charter a flight to the US, I’d appreciate it.”

***

The flight back cost four grand and took just under ten hours, with a self-service bar and complimentary snacks. An extra grand in cash when they got close put him at a small private airfield rather than the larger airport they’d reported in their flight plan. The airport was quite lax when it came to customs and they arranged a private shuttle for Tom at quite a reasonable rate.

Tired, but well-pleased, Tom stepped off the shuttle at the Smithsonian. There weren’t many places left in Washington where you could get a locker, and he planned to use them all.

***

It was mid-afternoon when he finally made his way back to the warehouse. He still had over two hundred thousand dollars left in hand, but then there was really no point in hiding away the money he needed for the boat. Better to have it close at hand when it came time to buy.

Normally he’d take the time to knock a hole in the wall to hide the rest of the money, but on the flight back Tom had done some thinking. It was one thing for him to live in an address that was known to be connected to Tom Keen; it was quite another for him to risk Liz with the connection. If he was going to continue involving himself in her life, he was going to have to move.

Thanks to habit and training, Tom had been keeping his eyes open for alternate safehouses ever since he’d gotten back in town. It would take a few hours to scout the right place and a few more hours to move.

After that, it was time to call Liz.


	9. Truce

Tom started second-guessing himself before he even finished leaving his message. The moment he’d given his new address he’d been committed, though, so he finished the message the way he'd originally planned and hung up.

Then he started pacing. It had seemed easy enough when Liz was telling him how important the whole truth was, but now that he was faced with actually telling her everything, Tom was starting to have doubts. Would she even believe him? What if – no, _when_ Reddington found out, what would he do to Tom? What would he do to Liz? 

But she deserved to know. And Tom was so fucking tired of living under Reddington’s thumb. 

But what if she didn’t believe him? What if...

It was a really long hour before he heard someone pounding on his door.

He hurried over, thinking _Reddington, it was Reddington_ the entire way.

“I got your message,” Liz said, no hint of fear left in her as she stepped inside and looked around. “What is this place?”

“Reddington,” he blurted.

Liz didn’t seem to hear him, too caught up in wondering why he was still around. Which just went to prove that they still had a long way to go.

Then again, she hadn’t held a gun on him in days. That was progress.

Dragging his attention to the matter at hand, he told Liz exactly what all women wanted to hear: that he’d been thinking about what she said and that it had changed him. Normally that was a line of bullshit meant to make a mark pleased with him, but this time Tom had to admit that it was the truth.

Liz stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

Okay, now he was seriously starting to think she was fucking with him. Then again, Liz always did like to see him squirm. “The passports. The passports came from Reddington.”

She looked genuinely shocked. Chalk up at least one strike to the whole “Reddington doesn’t lie to me” line of bullshit.

Fuck it. “Liz, there’s more. I have money, enough for a boat.”

Liz just shook her head. “What do you meant “the passports came from Reddington”?”

Tom took a deep breath and shelved the boat discussion for now. “Reddington gave me the passports. When he hired me.”

“Hired you for what?”

Tom opened his mouth, and hesitated.

Liz’s eyes blazed and she stepped right up into his space. “Hired you for _what_?”

Shit. Well, she’d asked for the truth. “Hired me to get close to you.”

The sound she made... it was like she’d been punched in the gut. When she spoke, her voice was small. “What?”

“Reddington hired me to get close to you.”

Liz just kept on staring at him, her eyes filling. Tom reached out hesitantly. Just before his fingers connected with her shoulder, she seemed to snap back to life. “No.”

“Liz...”

“No!”

Without another word, she stormed out.

For a long moment Tom just stared at the door. That could have gone better.

Then he turned and made his way into the back room, his feet dragging. His body ached, his head hurt, and his eyes were burning. It had been nearly a full day since he’d gotten any sleep and even then all he’d managed was a few hours leaning against the window of the plane. It was time to get some rest.

Plenty of time in the morning to think of all the ways he’d managed to fuck up.

***

Less than three hours later his silent alarm went off. The sound of plastic rattling on the table next to the cot woke him up and he was on his feet with his gun in hand before his eyes were fully open.

Footsteps in the front room sent a shot of adrenaline through him and he was wide awake as he spun around the corner with gun at the ready.

Liz was standing on the other side. “What are you doing here?”

Tom opened his mouth to say something pointed about Liz’s memory when Dembe came striding up behind her. “I live here,” Tom said instead. When Dembe didn’t immediately shoot him, he warily lowered his gun.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Liz said, right at the moment when Mr. Kaplan came rounding the corner, a gurney close behind.

Holy shit.

Liz, Mr. Kaplan, and Dembe all stared at Tom. Liz looked like she was silently asking for a favor. Mr. Kaplan looked like she was thinking up the best way to make Tom eat his own liver if Reddington died. Dembe was running his finger up and down over the trigger of his assault rifle.

Tom gave in to the inevitable. “Over there,” he said, pointing with his gun in the direction of the only working outlet in the warehouse. Everyone besides Liz immediately jumped back into motion.

To Liz, he added, “This is for you, Liz, not for him.”

The look she gave him was almost enough to make up for the fact that he was going to have to move house _again_ , damn it.

Liz got on the phone and Tom took the chance to sweep an eye over the place, making sure there was nothing visible that he couldn’t live without. Good thing he’d already put the money in the wall; if Reddington had any idea of the assets Tom still had available, he’d sic Mr. Kaplan on him.

Deciding that any further attempt at damage control would just give Dembe and Mr. Kaplan more ammunition, Tom wandered back out to the main room and pretended to watch Reddington while eavesdropping on Liz’s phone call. Sounded like there was a mole in Cooper’s office. The day just kept getting better.

“I thought you’d be gone,” Liz said the moment she hung up the phone.

Tom gave himself a second to think about his answer, very aware of how many ears there were in the room aside from Liz’s. “That was the plan,” he finally said. “Then I thought, maybe if I stayed I’d have a shot at a normal life.”

That was mostly said for Reddington, through Dembe’s blatantly listening ears. And that was as much as he was going to reveal about his intentions until he and Liz were alone again, so he changed the subject. “Does Nick have any idea what you’ve gotten him into?” Seeing Liz’s ex-fiance joining the crowd around Reddington had been a shock. When had the two of them reconnected?

Liz demurred that Nick was just there to be a doctor.

Tom reminded her that Reddington ruined the lives of everyone he touched. He didn’t bother to point out that his own life was a mess – he figured his shitty living conditions said it all – but he couldn’t quite resist a personal warning to her.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s bad. What matters is that he has answers about me and I’m staying until I get them.”

God _damn_ it, Liz. Tom took a deep breath. “Maybe I could help you get those answers.” Liz looked skeptical, so he added, “I know a lot more about Reddington than you think.”

She didn’t look convinced, which was fair, as he was lying through his teeth. He had a lot of generally known information about Reddington and a lot of speculation, but that wasn’t the same as having the information that Liz wanted.

Nick came out then to make passive-aggressive remarks about Tom and Liz’s marriage and to blackmail Mr. Kaplan for half a million dollars to take the bullet out of Reddington. Tom smiled sourly. Whatever Reddington may think of his relationship with Liz, he always figured a key part of his mission was protecting her from marrying this asshole.

Liz wandered over to watch the surgery and Tom let her go. They’d have more chances to talk, times when Reddington’s people weren’t around to listen to every word.

Anyway, she didn’t have much time to watch before Dembe sidled over and quietly spoke to her. A moment later Liz came back to Tom. “I need to go and run an errand.”

She was checking in with him. Tom felt a brief flash of joy so painful that the pleasure was almost lost in the intensity. Checking in wasn’t something you did with an adversary or even a reluctant ally. Checking in was only something you did with a partner. “You want me to come?” he murmured back, fighting hard to keep his voice level. It would mean leaving his home open to strangers, but he’d do it in a heartbeat if Liz asked.

“No, I’ve got this.” She glanced over at the surgery. “Keep an eye on everything here?”

He felt the corners of his mouth quirk up, entirely without his permission. “Whatever you need, Liz.”

He’d never meant anything more.

***

The surgery took a couple more hours and Liz still wasn’t back. Tom wasn’t thrilled by that turn of events, and no amount of fucking with Nick’s head could make up for Liz’s absence.

At least it gave him an opportunity to speak with Reddington. For better or worse, it was clear that Reddington was going to be part of Liz’s life in the long haul. That meant that Tom needed the two of them to reach a truce.

In retrospect, twenty minutes after the man woke up from surgery was probably not the best time for meaningful negotiations.

Still, he managed to say what he needed to: he was out. No more undercover assignments, no more assassinations. No more lying to Liz.

He’d picked his side.

***

He was packing his shit – and staying out of Dembe’s way – when Liz called. “Everything okay?” he asked, abandoning his duffel and heading back to the main room.

“No. You’re surrounded.”

Shit. “Where are you?”

Liz talked right over him. “I don’t know how many, but they’re coming and you need to be ready. Reddington, what’s his condition?”

Not dead, for what it was worth. “He’s better,” which was only true on a technicality, “but he’s going to get us all killed,” which was a guarantee, even if it didn’t happen in the next thirty minutes.

Liz promised to call for backup and Tom hung up. Time to step up to the mission Liz gave him and to cement his tentative truce with Reddington. Once Dembe and Mr. Kaplan agreed to give Tom a gun, he felt a grim satisfaction. There was no getting rid of him now.

Those last few moments before the building was stormed felt like the last few seconds the Major had given Tom before shoving him underwater to practice holding his breath. Like he had then, Tom sucked in short, quick breaths, oxygenating his blood and getting ready.

The lights went out, his adrenaline spiked, and the world dissolved into smoke and blood.


	10. Realignment

The moment the kill team cleared out, Tom grabbed his duffel bag and got out of the warehouse. The money in the wall he left behind; no one was going to notice a patch of slightly newer-looking wall in that slaughterhouse. He’d stop by later for retrieval.

As he was making his way to his second-best backup safehouse, he wondered if Reddington was still alive. If he was, what were he and Liz discussing? Did she now know about their truce?

All questions he was going to have to get answers to someday, but at the moment he was so tired he couldn’t see straight. Between the trip to Saint Marie, the confrontations with Liz and Red, and the firefight, he was exhausted to an extent that that little three hour nap could barely touch. Time to go to ground and regroup.

Fortunately he was tired enough to sleep on a concrete floor, because his cot had been too bulky to carry away from the last warehouse. Maybe it was time to look into keeping a second safehouse fully stocked. Or maybe it was time to get the boat. At least then he’d have a real bed.

***

_He’s in a dark room, one that looks eerily familiar. Blocky shadows fill the space, providing a range of platforms at various heights. Spiral staircases lead up to the highest platforms and there are a few ramps and bridges connecting clusters of blocks._

_There’s a gun in his hand._

_The gun is what he recognizes first. It looks like a short assault rifle, except that the barrel is too thin, there are two boxes on top that shouldn’t be there, and the entire thing is far too light, probably because it’s made of plastic. It’s a gun for laser tag, one that he’d gotten very familiar with as a teenager, when the Major was teaching him guerilla warfare tactics against a larger force. They’d go out for laser tag at least once a week, with the Major buying free games for every person in the building. The only catch? Anyone getting a free ticket had to work together to bring down Jacob._

_As for Jacob, his job was to eliminate the entire enemy force without significant injury. For every enemy combatant who survived, he’d have to go four hours without eating. He’d gone hungry more often than not in those first few weeks._

_Already he can feel the gnaw of hunger in his belly; he must’ve done poorly last week and if he doesn’t do better this time around he’s going to find himself too weak for training. The Major won’t stand for that; Jacob’s back still aches from the last time he failed to complete his training._

_The darkness is suddenly cut by a flicker of light and Jacob launches himself behind one of the boxes, putting himself in easy reach of a staircase. Without knowing how many combatants are out there or how long they had to find places to hide he’s at a significant disadvantage. Best option is to get as high as possible and snipe as many as he can._

_He’s about to jump for the staircase when a hand wraps around his neck from behind._

_Jacob jerks forward, but the hand has an iron grip and he finds himself hauled back instead, until he’s leaning against a warm body. A warm, soft, _curvy_ body wafting an achingly familiar scent. “Liz?”_

_“Tom,” Liz answers, and Jacob disappears from his mind._

_Leaning back in relief, trusting Liz to take his weight, Tom says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”_

_“I’m sure you are,” Liz says, sounding amused. Her hand loosens against his neck, but she doesn’t take it away. He imagines this is how a collar might feel. “You were about to get yourself killed.”_

_“I was,” Tom admits. He’s always considered himself a survivor, but after Liz – well, it’s been hard to make himself care._

_Liz just hums under her breath and her free arm wraps around Tom’s waist. The laser tag vest, if he’d even been wearing one in the first place, is mysteriously gone, leaving nothing but a thin layer of cotton between her roaming fingers and Tom’s skin._

_“What do you want me to do?” he asks as stroking fingers cause the skin of his stomach to break out in goosebumps._

_“What will you do for me?”_

_“Anything,” Tom breathes, closing his eyes and leaning forward a bit so that Liz’s hand tightens around his neck. “I’ll do anything.”_

***

When he woke up, it took him a moment to remember where he was. Musty, cold, license plates on the wall and the smell of grease in the air. It all added up to the new safehouse, an abandoned autoshop. The place had already been stripped of the valuable gear; apparently no one thought the license plates were worth the effort.

Sitting upright and swallowing a groan as pain registered all over his body, Tom grabbed his cell phone to check the time. Instead, he saw himself staring at a voicemail alert.

There were only two people left in the world who had this number, and he doubted Dembe had felt a sudden urge to call.

Liz’s message was actually a request to meet at – shit, at thirty minutes before Tom woke up. He dragged himself upright, pulled on his heaviest coat, and headed out the door.

He was kind of worried that he’d arrive to find Liz had given up on him but she was still there, sitting on a bench and staring at her cell phone. Tom hesitated for just a second, wondering what she was seeing, then continued forward. He had to fight the urge to keep his walk at a reasonable pace.

Once he reached her, the first thing that blurted out of his mouth was: “I came as soon as I could.” He sat down next to her, trying to make it look casual, and glanced over.

Liz looked devastated.

Tom felt an abrupt tightness in his chest and, after a brief war within himself, he reached out and carefully put his hand over Liz’s.

Liz’s hand turned over and clutched back. “I think you’re right,” she said, sounding half a second away from tears. “Reddington... what happened today... this thing is going to devour me.”

Tom immediately started backpedaling from his earlier warnings. And maybe he was right when he told her that Reddington’s world wouldn’t devour her. After all, he was going to be right there making sure she came through in one piece.

He didn’t add that part, of course. Not yet.

Liz looked a little better after his reassurances and she let go of Tom’s hand. He pulled it back without protest. Things were going far better than he would have imagined even a week before. He wasn’t going to mess that up by pushing Liz too hard.

“You said you could help me find answers,” she said after a moment.

Tom nodded slowly, already sifting through the array of half-truths and evasions he’d used to convince Liz that he knew a lot more than he really did. Not that it mattered. He was never going to tell her no. “Yeah, I can.” 

Liz turned to him. “Tell me what you know about Reddington.”

Shit. He should’ve expected this, but she’d been so avoidant of direct questions about Reddington before, even on the boat.

Truth of the matter was, Tom knew a lot about Reddington. He knew about Reddington’s key allies and contacts. He knew about Reddington’s break from US intelligence. He knew about many, maybe even most, of the projects that bore Reddington’s stamp.

What he didn’t know were the things that Liz really wanted: how she and Reddington were connected. How Reddington knew her biological mother and her adopted father. What happened the night of the fire.

But he was committed now, so he did the only thing he could: he punted. “I never told you that I ran into Reddington outside Sam’s hospital in Nebraska.”

Liz’s eyes widened.

Tom swallowed a sigh of relief. He had her.

They talked for nearly an hour before Liz’s phone rang. “I’ve got to take this.”

Tom nodded and then shamelessly listened in. It sounded like some sort of serial killer case, one that wasn’t connected to Reddington. Liz hung up with a sigh. “I guess with Reddington out for the count, we’re getting loaned out to other departments.” She hesitated. “Tom... are you really planning on staying?”

He considered the question, debating how much he could admit to at this point in their still-fractured relationship. Decisions like these used to be easy for him, but with Liz everything was getting turned on its head. “For a little while,” he finally said. “At least long enough to get a boat.”

Her lips turned up slightly at the corners and she shook her head. “I had no idea you were so serious about that boat.”

“Boats can be useful,” Tom answered with a shrug. He hesitated a moment before adding, “And maybe someday you’ll need a safe way out of town.”

Liz rolled her eyes. Too soon, then. Still, it was better than getting angry. “You should go,” Tom said, using one of his old tricks.

Sure enough, Liz’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. Women always liked being the one to get the last word. “Stay out of trouble.”

Tom gave her a beatific smile. “Of course.”


	11. Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey. Original content. Where did that come from?

It was too soon to pick up the bulk of his money at the warehouse, but Tom had held onto twenty grand for supplies. He’d been far too long without a decent handgun and the sooner he could get the tattoos off, the better.

A quick call to Ziggy got him in touch with an appropriately disreputable arms dealer, as well as provided him with the name of someone who could take care of his tattoos. Gun buying – and, more importantly, gun transport – was better done at night, so Tom stopped by the tattoo removal place. They didn’t have any walk-in slots left for the day, but the receptionist managed to squeeze him in with the help of a thousand bucks slipped under the desk.

The news about the tattoo was as bad as expected: not all tattoos could be removed completely, it could take six months to a year even if it could be removed, and there was a good chance of scarring.

Five grand up front and a demonstration that Tom was perfectly willing to cut the skin off his neck before he’d wait a _year_ to be rid of the damn thing and he got some more workable numbers. The first session happened immediately.

Two weeks later Tom had massive blisters on his neck and back, covering tattoos that weren’t fading nearly fast enough for his peace of mind. He also had a fresh stash of weaponry and a second safehouse ready to go for the inevitable moment when Liz burned his current one.

What he didn’t have was a mission. Liz hadn’t gotten back in touch since their meeting on the waterfront; based on the news, he figured her potential serial killer case was the whackjob killing women all around the country. If he was right, then that suspiciously familiar elbow he’d seen at the press conference in Missouri was probably her.

On the one hand, she was probably safer on this case than she had been since meeting Reddington. On the other hand, they’d been making real progress before this case came up and Tom wasn’t happy at the potential for backsliding.

He was about a day from flying out to Missouri when Reddington summoned him for a meeting.

Strictly speaking, the call was from Dembe, who had warned Tom to be on his best behavior. Tom understood why when he slid into the car that pulled up right in front of his latest safehouse – and if _that_ wasn’t proving a point, he didn’t known Reddington. In the backseat of the car he found Reddington, looking more dead than alive. Tom raised his eyebrow. “You’ve looked better.”

Reddington glared back, which instantly brightened Tom’s day. “I want to make something very clear. Agent Keen cannot know that we’re meeting today.”

Any trace of amusement Tom was feeling immediately disappeared. “No. I’m done lying to Liz.”

Reddington looked pained. Tom guessed he was feeling too shitty to deliver one of his usual diversionary monologues. “Lizzie is being _watched_ , Tom. Anything you tell her is going to put my contingency plans at risk.”

Tom scowled, but he couldn’t argue the point. After all, it wasn’t _Reddington’s_ people who’d given away the location of Reddington’s emergency surgery. Twice.

“Fine. But I’m not lying to her indefinitely.”

“You won’t have to.” Reddington sighed and slumped back in his seat. Tom had never seen him look so weary. “Lizzie’s made an enemy of the Director of the Cabal. The publicity of her current assignment is keeping her safe at the moment, but once it’s over I imagine it’ll be a matter of days, weeks at most, before her life is over.”

Tom swallowed. He’d like to say that he’d be able to single-handedly save Liz from the Cabal, but he was a realist. “What do you need?”

Reddington reached down beside him and pulled up a silver briefcase.

Tom felt a sinking sensation. Sure enough, when Reddington opened the briefcase, it was full of plaster-dusted money. “I guess you have an in with the FBI guarding that crime scene.”

“I have an in everywhere,” Reddington said flatly.

One upshot of all of this: getting shot dramatically improved Reddington’s personality. Honest intimidation was much more palatable than Reddington’s usual style. “You don’t have to hold my money hostage. You know I’m going to help Liz.”

“You misunderstand me.” Reddington closed the briefcase and passed it over. 

Tom took it warily. “This is for me to use?”

“Along with this.” Reddington handed over a second briefcase, significantly heavier than the first.

“No,” Tom said, pushing the briefcase back. “I’m not working for you.”

“Trust me, I’m not making that mistake again.” Redding took the briefcase and opened it. As Tom expected, it was full of hundred dollar bills. “I hear you’ve been looking for a boat.”

Son of a _bitch_. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I need you to buy a second boat,” Reddington said, ignoring Tom’s question. “Something big enough to carry two people—“

Tom cleared his throat.

“—or three people across the Atlantic.” Reddington paused. “There is one thing you need to understand, Tom. I’ve accepted that Lizzie’s forming an alliance with you. I don’t like it, but I’ve accepted it. That said, if you ever do _anything_ to hurt her—”

“Anything like withholding information that she’s risking her life to learn? Or getting her mixed up with the _Cabal_? Or—”

“You can try to turn this on me all you want, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are safe only so long as you are protecting Lizzie. The moment you fail in that mission, your life is over.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Tom muttered. He fully intended to go down protecting Liz at some point or another; if she died there wouldn’t be anything of Tom left for Reddington to destroy.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” Reddington pushed the briefcase over again; this time Tom took it without hesitation. “You’ll find some other goodies in there as well. New passports, driver’s licenses, a pilot license.”

“Helicopter or plane?”

Reddington raised his eyebrows. “When did you learn how to fly a helicopter?”

“I guess the Major didn’t tell you everything.” Tom opened the smaller case and tossed the dusty bills on top of the money in the larger case. “When do you need the boat?”

“The sooner, the better.” Reddington sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “War is coming, Tom.”

Tom nodded in acknowledgement, but before he could say anything the car started to slow. Tom frowned; they weren’t anywhere near his safehouse.

“Time’s running too short for you to waste it with public transportation. Consider this my gift to you.”

The car stepped next to a Mustang. A blue Mustang.

“I hear Lizzie loves this color.”

Oh, fuck you, too, Reddington. Tom didn’t bother saying goodbye, just got out of the car, briefcase in hand, and slammed the door behind him.

He waited until the black sedan was out of sight before allowing himself to smile.

Liz really had liked that car.


	12. Elation

Two days later Liz texted, asking for Tom’s new address.

Tom was sitting in a coffee shop, skimming through boat classifieds. Swearing under his breath – the news hadn’t even reported the killer getting caught, damn it, Tom thought he had more time – he hurriedly started opening links into new tabs, until he had a good couple dozen options for him to read through at the auto shop.

Not for the first time, he regretted the impossibility of stealing internet when there was no one around using it for him to steal. He’d acquire it legally, but no one was going to provide internet to a squatter.

He waited until he was back at the shop to text the address to Liz, then hurriedly set about tidying the place to ex-wife-turned-guest-turned-future-something-to-be-defined-later levels. Lacking much in the way of cleaning supplies, this meant shoving most of the shit in the main room into the corners, dragging in his lone table and chair, and unlocking the front door. He sent her a text telling her to let herself in, sat down at the table, and opened his laptop.

A minute later he lifted his feet up onto the table. The table was too tall for the position to be comfortable, but it made him look more casual.

A minute after that, he decided he was trying too hard and put his feet back down again.

A minute after that, he put them back up, feeling like an idiot. It was hard to believe that he was once _good_ at this. But maybe not so hard to believe. Before when he was positioning himself for effect, he knew the kind of effect he wanted to achieve. When it came to Liz, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Well, other than for her to want him back, but after everything they’d gone through, he didn’t think his usual tricks would be very helpful.

So maybe he should just make himself comfortable? But then he’d be crouched over his laptop, which wasn’t really attractive, and Liz had always responded better to power positions like his current one. Of course, if his dreams were telling him anything, it was that he didn’t really want to be the one in power. Then again, did he really want his dreams to be dictating his behavior?

Was this what dating was like for normal people? If so, it was a miracle anyone ever managed to get their shit together long enough to get married.

Married. Tom closed his eyes, feeling a stab of loss. He’d been with a lot of people in his life, but he’d never been happy the way he had when he’d been married to Liz. It was even better than when he’d been dating Liz – the happiness of their marriage was deeper and stronger, like the tide moving an entire ocean.

Could they ever have that again? Everything between him and Liz was so screwed up now, and Reddington just kept making things worse. But they _were_ getting better. Maybe—

The door opened and Liz walked in, already talking about some photo. It took Tom a moment to realize that this was probably about that picture Liz had found in Reddington’s apartment, of a woman standing behind a girl in a swing. It was one of the things they’d discussed in that hour by the river.

Shit. He knew this picture mattered to her, that she was willing to risk everything to learn about her mother, but Tom was never going to put knowledge about a stranger above Liz’s life. With the Cabal gunning for Liz, they didn’t have time to waste solving old mysteries.

Glancing down at the picture he’d been looking at before being distracted by his thoughts, Tom offered up a silent, not very sincere apology to Reddington, and said, “I could just buy this boat and we could disappear.”

Liz was not impressed. They argued for a bit before Liz reached out and closed the laptop while it was still sitting on Tom’s lap.

He stared at it for a second, feeling slightly stunned. That was easily the most married thing Liz had done to him since they’d actually been married.

With an effort, Tom dragged his attention back to Liz’s words. She’s still talking about how she hadn’t been able to find the woman in the picture.

Giving up on the boat issue for now, Tom set his laptop aside and noted, “Reddington knows who she is.”

“I know who she is,” Liz answered. “That girl, that’s me. And the woman, I believe that may be my mother.”

Tom eyed the picture. Frankly, he’d never thought it was in doubt that the woman was Liz’s mother, so he wasn’t sure why she was making a point of it now. Obviously Reddington was connected to Liz somehow, and if Liz didn’t remember him, their connection must’ve been from her forgotten childhood. “Does that mean Reddington’s your dad?” he finally asked, just to see how Liz responded.

“No,” she said instantly, which was reassuring. What was not reassuring was the way Liz told him about the fire of her childhood, as if she thought he’d forgotten. To Tom, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself with that story. Though this was the first time he was hearing about Reddington being in the fire. If Reddington was the reason Liz had survived, then Tom owed him one.

That thought did nothing to help his mood.

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Tom asked, abruptly out of patience. Hell, Liz was one of maybe five people on the entire planet who could safely question Reddington on any subject; it was starting to bug him that she kept waiting for Reddington to dole out scraps of information.

They squabbled a bit more and Tom took advantage of the opportunity to slip in one of the consistent tells he’d noticed among all of Reddington’s business partners: conspicuous silence whenever the name “Raymond Reddington” came up. Apparently the first rule of working with Reddington was that you never told anyone you were working with Reddington.

During the discussion Tom had been idly looking at the enhanced picture and his voice trailed off as he saw something, something so tiny that he had to blow up the image to be sure it was real.

Holy shit. Liz’s mom had been connected to Berlin. Maybe there was something useful to be learned in Liz’s quest after all, because Berlin had never mentioned any sort of connection to Liz before. The entire information packet he’d given to Tom had been centered on Reddington.

Best of all, Liz gave him a mission. It wasn’t a big mission – just to reach out to some of his old Berlin contacts – but she gave him the mission and then walked away, trusting him to get the job done.

It took everything he had to keep from grinning like an idiot.

***

Of course, reaching out to Berlin’s contacts was harder than it sounded, especially since most of them had gone underground after his death. In the couple of days it took before he got a lead on one of Berlin’s drinking buddies, he had another session with the laser. Finally, he was starting to see some actual fading in the tattoo on his neck.

He iced the tattoo while waiting for Liz to show up to hear about his information. She arrived less than half an hour after he sent the text, and came in without knocking. She stopped just inside the door and stared. “Why are you dressed for the gym?”

Tom stretched a little, enjoying the way Liz’s eyes ran over his torso and ass. He’d let himself go a little as Tom Keen, since there was only so much time an elementary school teacher could plausibly spend at a gym. With most of his current days filled with empty time, he’d taken the opportunity to get himself back in fighting form. Whether she’d say it or not, Liz clearly approved.

“The guy I’m meeting is scheduled to be at a Turkish bath this afternoon.”

“The guy _we’re_ meeting,” Liz said, her eyes locked on his butt.

Tom bit down on a smile and leaned over to pick up his gym bag. When he stood back up, Liz had her eyes closed. He allowed himself a smirk as he answered, “It’s men’s only. If you want to come, you’ll have to wait in the lobby.”

“I want to come.” Liz opened her eyes again, all business. “If this man knows something about my mother, then I want to be there. Besides, I’m not sending you in without backup.”

Tom turned away, hiding the expression that he couldn’t quite keep off his face. There wasn’t anything he could do about the way his heart was racing, either, but at least Liz couldn’t see that. “Come on,” he said, heading for the door. “We don’t want to miss him.”

***

Their timing was actually perfect. Tom walked into the steamy locker room to find Berlin’s friend was already there, shaving his head.

Tom waited until it was clear that the only other person in the room was leaving, then started speaking. The specific words didn’t matter, just that he dropped his code name – Constantine – and Berlin’s name. He didn’t miss the way the other man’s hands paused at the code name. He’d always thought this nameless old man was more connected than Berlin had let on.

They went back and forth a couple of times without making progress, so Tom decided the direct route was the best route and pulled out the phone with the picture on it. Before he got any answers, another man came in and things fell apart almost immediately.

Tom was handling things – two old, out-of-shape gangsters weren’t really a big deal – but when Liz stormed in with her gun at the ready, he felt gratitude burning in his chest. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need her; she’d come. For him. And the first thing she did after the situation was diffused was to ask if Tom was all right. She asked that even before she asked questions about her mom.

No one had ever thought about Tom first, not his mother, not the Major, not even his previous assignments. No one but Liz.

If he hadn’t already loved her, that would have been enough.

Liz turned her attention back to Berlin’s associate and Tom quickly moved into place just behind her, making it clear to anyone who might be watching that he had her back.

Gun still raised, Liz asked her questions and got silence in return. Tom was glad he’d dropped that hint earlier; she immediately understood what the silence meant and stalked out of the room. Tom kept a wary eye on the two men as he grabbed his gym bag, but neither one looked like they were up for another confrontation.

Out in the lobby, he found Liz going through the club signing sheet. She spotted a name halfway down and swore. Tom glanced at where her finger was pointing. “Who’s Bill Kershaw?” he asked, hurrying after her.

“It’s Reddington,” Liz said, already at the door. “I’ve got to go back to the apartment.”

“Want me to go with?” Tom offered hopefully.

Liz shook her head. “Go buy your boat. I’m starting to think we might need it.”

Tom nodded, feeling something strange and wonderful running through his veins. He thought it might be elation.


	13. Rain

Still riding high, Tom went out and bought a boat. It was similar to the one he’d shown Liz and considerably smaller than what he’d originally intended to buy, but with Reddington needing a vessel to cross the Atlantic, Tom figured his own boat wasn’t going to see much use. Better to get something smaller and cheaper and have a stash of money on hand so he and Liz wouldn’t have to depend entirely on Reddington.

It was also easier to buy a cheaper boat with cash. Turning over fifty grand in large bills with a sly wink and insinuations about taxes wasn’t beyond the pale. _Five hundred_ grand was another matter entirely. Tom was still considering what to do about buying a half-million dollar yacht for Reddington without raising any red flags that would alert law enforcement.

For now, he set about getting essentials ready on the boat: installing holsters for guns in discreet places, creating a secret compartment in the back of one of the cabinets, and hiding half of the money he’d saved with the cheaper purchase throughout the cabin.

It took the better part of the afternoon to get this all set up and Tom stared at the bed on the boat wistfully before heading back up onto the deck and out to his car.

That night he began packing up his gear. It was raining outside and the tapping of drops against the windows was a soothing backdrop to his work. He found himself settling into a quiet fantasy of him and Liz sitting together on the deck of the boat, riding the waves with no Reddington in sight.

A knock interrupted his dreaming and he frowned. Liz hadn’t called about coming by and he couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be polite enough to knock. He tucked a gun in the small of his back before heading to the door.

Liz stood on the other side, soaked to the skin and shaking in the rain.

Tom immediately stood back, opening a path into the shop. “Come in.”

She just stared back. It was hard to tell with the rain, but it looked like she might be crying.

Tom tried again. “Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head, still staring. Her shaking was starting to intensify into shudders.

He couldn’t just stand there and watch anymore. Tom stepped outside and let the door fall shut behind him as he pulled Liz into his arms. She practically fell into the embrace, clutching the sides of his jacket and pressing her face into his chest. Tom pulled her in close and put his chin over her head, sheltering her as much as he was able. His eyes were burning despite the freezing rain and he had to blink back a stinging pressure as he lifted a hand to stroke Liz’s drenched hair.

They stood there for an eternity before Liz pulled back and lifted up her head. “Can I come inside?”

“Yeah,” Tom said. “Of course.” He gently ran a thumb over her cheekbone, where she’d been pressed tightly enough against his jacket to create a small indent the size and shape of his jacket’s zipper. “Any time.”

She gave him a watery smile. “I’m getting cold.”

“Right.” It was harder than Tom imagined it could be to make his arms let go of Liz. “Right.” He forced his arms down and turned to the door, at which point he realized that in the heat of the moment he’d forgotten to put something in the doorjamb to keep the door from closing fully. Now it was locked.

He swore. “You don’t happen to have lockpicks on you, do you?”

Liz let out a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical. “I left them in my other pants.” She leaned against his back. “Hey, do you remember when we first moved into the house and you forgot that it had a self-latching door?”

Tom closed his eyes and tried to ignore how good it felt to have Liz leaning on him, trusting him to hold her steady. “It’s been two years, Liz. When are you going to let that one go?”

“Never,” Liz answered. “I’m thinking never.” She sighed. “Any place where we can break a window?”

He’d been trying to avoid that, since there wasn’t any sort of functional heating system in the shop, but they couldn’t stay out here forever. “Maybe we could go back to your place?”

Liz immediately shifted so she wasn’t leaning on him anymore. Tom turned around to see her scowling. “Reddington knows where I live.”

Reddington knew where Tom lived, too, but he obviously wasn’t going to say that now. “Come on. There’s a window in the back we can use.”

They crept around the side of the building, picking their way in the dark over an uneven surface of broken pavement, clumps of grass, and stray bits of garbage. “I’m having flashbacks to high school.”

“Smoking behind the school?”

“Smoking _pot_ behind the school.”

Tom grinned. “You were a bad girl, huh?”

“Badder than you know. They are some things you just don’t tell an elementary school teacher.”

Tom stopped and turned to face Liz. “Good thing you aren’t talking to an elementary school teacher then.” He broke in the window with his elbow.

“And I bet if we compared who got into the most trouble as kids, you’d leave me in the dust.”

“Probably.” Tom cupped his hands and lifted Liz up. She reached in and unlocked the window, sliding it up before slithering inside. Tom jumped up after her and found her hugging herself tightly, shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.

“Shit.” Tom hurried over and wrapped her up in a hug. “We have to get you out of these wet clothes.”

“I-is that a line?” Liz sounded weary, amused, and very, very cold.

“It can be,” Tom offered, not seriously. “I'd offer you a shower, but there’s no hot water.”

“What about a towel?”

“That I can do.” Tom reluctantly let Liz go and pointed in the direction of the room he used for sleeping. “You should find some dry clothes in there. Take whatever you need.”

“Okay. Tom—” Liz managed a watery smile. “Thank you.”

Tom smiled back, tucking his hands behind his back to keep from pulling her into another embrace. “Anytime.”

The towel was easy enough to find, but Tom lingered in the bathroom. The last thing he needed to do right now was damage the burgeoning closeness they’d been building by walking in on Liz while she was trying to get dressed. It was one of those things that looked sexy in movies, but in Tom’s experience it usually left a real life woman feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

Apparently he waited too long, though, because when he went into the room, he found Liz lying on his cot, sound asleep.

Tom smiled helplessly. Liz was curled up on her side, wearing one of his shirts and looking absolutely beautiful.

Not wanting to wake her up, he put the towel aside. Instead of drying her off, he carefully pulled the blanket up so that it was over her shoulders. Then he grabbed the towel and some dry clothes of his own, going out into the main room to get dressed.

Ten minutes later he was relatively dry, dressed, and he’d hung up all of the wet clothes. Liz’s were positively sopping; after hanging for a few seconds they started dripping. He doubted those would be dry enough for Liz to wear in the morning. Nothing he could do about it now, though, so he left them there and went to find something to cover the window.

Once that was done, he found himself at loose ends. Sleep was the next logical thing to do, but he hadn’t ever planned on having overnight guests in his safehouse and Liz was sleeping on the only bed, using the only blankets.

He could stand guard, but honestly he thought it was a waste of time. Reddington might’ve given up on watching Tom full time, but there was no way Liz was wandering out in public without someone keeping an eye on her. Reddington probably had an entire army of nondescript spies dedicated to watching over Liz.

Packing up had lost much of its appeal, too, not the least because Liz was lying in the room that held most of his gear. Besides, now that she’d shown up at his place unannounced, he was feeling a lot more fond of this shop. He wasn’t going to move to the boat now, not until he had a way to make sure Liz knew exactly where he was if she wanted him.

In the end, he decided the best he could do was settle near Liz in case she needed him, and try to sleep. Moving quietly, he carried in his chair and a crate and tried to get comfortable.

He must not have been as quiet as he thought, because he was still shifting in his chair when he heard Liz’s voice, soft and slurred with sleep. “Tom?”

He froze. “Yeah?”

“It’s late. Come to bed.”

Tom felt his eyes widen in surprise, but he wasn’t a mild-mannered teacher anymore and he wasn’t about to ask if she was sure and risk her saying no, so he immediately got off his chair and stepped over to the cot. Getting _into_ the cot was another matter; it really wasn’t designed for two people and Liz’s half-awake attempts to help were utterly unhelpful. Still, Tom was determined and Liz was drowsily cooperative and finally they found a workable position with Tom lying on his back and Liz lying almost entirely on top of him. “Okay?” he asked quietly.

“Mm.” Liz rubbed her head against his chest. “Feel good.”

Liz had always been trusting and affectionate when half-asleep, but Tom had forgotten how good it made him feel. His throat thickening, he twisted his neck enough that he could press a soft kiss to the top of her head. “So do you, Liz.”

She hummed again, and he felt her shifting just a little before a soft suction started just under his collarbone. Tom swallowed hard. “Liz?”

“Taste good.” The suction was cut off by the sharp nip of teeth. “Gonna leave a hickey.”

“Good,” he said without thinking. “I mean... that’s fine. Whatever you want to do is fine.”

The suction started up again for a few more seconds, though it seemed to be losing steam. Finally it stopped.

Tom waited a few seconds. “Liz?”

A soft snore answered.

Tom closed his eyes with a rueful smile. When she was really tired, Liz had also been known to start things and then fall asleep before finishing.

Looking down at the beginnings of a truly spectacular hickey, he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset. Whatever happened in the morning, Liz had marked him and he’d be carrying her mark on his body for days.

His heart full of hope, Tom closed his eyes and immediately fell into sleep.


	14. Morning After

Tom woke up to the feel of Liz’s knee in his stomach and he grunted.

“Shit, sorry,” Liz whispered. She looked embarrassed but well-rested. “Where are my clothes?”

“Out in the other room.” Tom propped himself up in the cot, curling his shoulders so the collar of his shirt dipped enough to reveal the hickey. Liz’s cheeks turned pink. He smirked and added, “They’re probably still wet, though.”

“I’ll live.”

Tom gave her ten seconds before deciding that she’d recovered enough for him to be a little pushy. Untangling himself from the blankets on the cot, he headed out to the main room to see if Liz would kick him back out or let him watch.

She’d used those few seconds well and had already wrestled her way into pants that were clearly on the wetter side of damp.

“You weren’t wrong; these are still dripping.”

That wasn’t anything close to “get out” so Tom moved close enough to lean casually against his table, and openly let himself enjoy the view. “No heat.”

“Mm. And is that why we ended up in bed together?”

“Hey, don’t put that on me. You’re the one who suggested it.” He smiled slightly. “More like an order, really.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t look angry. She also didn’t change her shirt, which was disappointing, but not unexpected. She pushed her feet into her shoes and gathered up the rest of her clothes. They made a damp patch where she pressed them up against her stomach. “Thank you, Tom.” She smiled wryly. “For last night, for helping me with Reddington, for turning yourself in – for everything.”

Tom opened his mouth, not entirely sure what he wanted to say. What came out was, “Have breakfast with me.”

Liz sighed. “Tom... I don’t have time. I have to go home to get changed before work.”

“Lunch, then. My treat.”

Liz closed her eyes, but she owed him and Tom wasn’t about to let her off the hook. “I’ll try.”

Tom translated that to a 50-50 chance she’d show up. “There’s a diner I think you’ll like.” It was also three minutes from where she worked, eliminating at least one possible excuse. “I’ll text you the address.”

“All right.” She stared at him for a moment longer before shaking her head slightly and leaving.

Tom watched her go, and started planning what to say and do at the diner. It was time to go on the offensive.

***

He spent the morning packing up the rest of his stuff and bringing it out to the boat. He also gave Ziggy a call; he’d had an idea about where he might be able to get a yacht for Reddington.

As if he knew Tom was thinking of him, Reddington called mid-morning. Tom answered the phone with, “I don’t have your boat yet.”

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

Tom tensed. “Did something happen to Liz?”

“Not yet, but the situation is escalating rapidly.” There was a long pause before Reddington continued, sounding disgruntled. “Based on Lizzie’s location last night, I assume you’ve made progress.”

Fucking Reddington and his fucking surveillance. “What happened between me and Liz is none of your goddamn business.”

“You misunderstand – I’m not looking for details. Circumstances being what they are, however, I think you have a chance of talking Lizzie into leaving. I want you to take that opportunity.”

For a second Tom legitimately wondered if someone had scrambled Reddington’s brain. “You want _me_ to talk Liz into leaving.”

“I want you to try. Right now my relationship with Agent Keen isn’t in a place where she’ll listen to me if I tell her to leave.”

“...so you don’t want the boat?”

“No, I still want it. At some point she’ll need to get as far away from the United States as possible, and I doubt that little dinghy you bought could make it as far as Canada, much less Europe.”

Not for the first time, Tom found it impossible to believe that this man was somehow considered _charming_. “Fine. I’ll try. No promises, though.”

“I understand. And, Tom? Don’t forget that Lizzie cannot know that we’re working together. Not as long as she’s still connected to the FBI.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not in a hurry to tell her.” Starting over _again_ with Liz wasn’t going to be fun, but it’d be a lot easier if they were stuck together in a small vessel in the middle of the ocean. Not too many places to hide in a boat.

Distracted by his conversation with Reddington and impatient to hear back from Ziggy, Tom left early for the diner even though he knew Liz was probably going to be late, if she showed up at all. He grabbed a table and waited for the waitress to come over.

If there was one thing his marriage had taught him, it was that waiting for Liz to arrive before eating always led to low blood sugar and a lot of leftovers for the dog. With that in mind, he went ahead and ordered his food. He ordered for Liz, too, but intentionally chose things that would keep well under a heating lamp and had them wait ten minutes before starting to cook.

While he waited, Tom tried to come up with some sort of plan. He had a few ideas – how long would it take Liz to forgive him if he just drugged and kidnapped her? – but every couple of minutes he felt his mind wandering from his planning to the night before.

He could still feel a slight ache just under his collarbone. If he pressed that spot he knew he’d feel a sweet pain, because he’d been testing the bruise all morning. Every time he touched it, he remembered what Liz’s lips felt like against his skin.

What if she hadn’t fallen asleep? What if she’d kept on kissing him? He could almost imagine what it would’ve felt like if she’d pushed up his shirt and sucked a hickey onto his stomach. Or maybe just above his hip, so tantalizingly close to his—

“Here ya go, sugar.”

Tom looked down to see a plate. Food, right.

He tried to eat, but the food wasn’t nearly as interesting as his thoughts and eventually he gave up entirely.

Now that he gave them free reign, his thoughts turned right to the previous night. This time the real memories began to bleed into his latest wet dream and the drowsy affection of Liz’s real kiss morphed into a hot, passionate claiming as Liz held Tom down and laid down a long trail of marks down his body.

Shit. Tom’s body was starting to react. He put a hand up to shield his face from anyone who might be looking and shifted in his seat.

This was ridiculous. Tom had been a professional seducer of women for nearly twenty years and he’d never had this problem before. Hell, most of the time he had to work himself up to arousal; it was fortunate for his reputation that his need for extended foreplay had come across as romantic.

Not anymore. Something about his dreams and his messy relationship with Liz was wreaking havoc with his libido and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, these recurring moments of arousal were annoying. On the other hand, if he did end up having sex with Liz again, he had a feeling it would be the best sex of his life.

Maybe his expectations were getting too high. Or maybe he was expecting the wrong thing altogether. Aside from that half-assed attempt at torture at their house and the much more effective captivity on the ship, Liz hadn’t demonstrated much interest in domination. And, no matter what his dreams said, neither of those circumstances had much to do with sex.

At the same time, he could remember some flashes of potential throughout their marriage. The time she reduced the Comcast customer service representative to tears _and_ got a personal apology from the district supervisor. The way she’d manipulated the principal at Tom’s school into fast-tracking Tom for tenure. The times during sex when she’d pull Tom's head between her legs or—

The bell over the door tinkled and Tom dragged himself into the present to see Liz coming in. Shit. This was awkward.

He dug deep and found a smile to offer her, folding his arms into a casual pose. Liz sat down and immediately ducked her head, looking embarrassed.

Not a good start. Tom shifted forward and offered up some bullshit about the diner’s coffee.

Liz cut him off. “Look, last night... me coming by your place like that and...”

Tom smothered a wince. He’d had higher hopes for this lunch, considering how smoothly the morning had gone. Clearly Liz had been having second thoughts since then.

Well, Tom had been doing some thinking, too. “Liz, I want to say something.”

“Don’t,” she said quickly, “please.” She hesitated, then asked about his boat, adding, “Whatever the other thing is...” she hesitated again “...I’m sure that it’s probably best for both of us if you just keep it to yourself.”

Ignoring that ramble wasn’t difficult and Tom forged ahead with his apology. “I’m sorry.” Just saying words were a tremendous relief, more so than he’d anticipated, so he said them again.

Liz looked incredulous. “Tom, we are way past that.”

“I know, but I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I want to apologize because I should’ve done it a long time ago.” Sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened if he’d apologized and explained everything when their relationship first fell apart. Maybe Liz would’ve understood. Maybe she’d have let him explain. Maybe he’d be spending all of his time fighting with her, instead of wasting so much time fighting against her. Maybe he could have protected her from getting caught up with the Cabal.

Then again, maybe it wouldn’t have changed a thing. No way to know about how things might’ve turned out in the past. All Tom could do was try and get things right going forward.

It was a sign of how much work he still had to do when Liz’s response to his apology was to ask him about the catch.

“There’s no catch,” he said. Remembering her previous lecture on honesty and very aware of how much he was still hiding from her, he added a bit of truth: “Just a little hope.”

“Hope?” Liz asked incredulously. “That what, we’ll just work through this screwed up situation we’re in and go back to playing house?”

She said it like it was impossible, but after last night Tom though that he was justified in having at least a small glimmer of hope. “All right, dream scenario. We finish our coffee, we hop on my boat, we leave, we never look back. Preferably, we take our clothes off at some point...”

Liz laughed, which was what Tom was shooting for, but it didn’t make the plan less valid or less desirable.

“Be serious,” she said.

“I’m trying to be,” Tom answered, though he couldn’t stop the smile of delight he felt at having gotten an honest laugh out of Liz. Suddenly this lunch didn’t seem like a completely terrible idea.

“That’s insane,” she retorted. “I don’t know you, not the real you, and the fact that you think I’m going to run away with whoever you are means that you don’t know me at all, either.”

Tom thought Liz knew him better than she realized, but before he could say so the waitress came over. With spectacularly good timing, she put down the food Tom had ordered for Liz. The look that Liz gave the bacon and toast was a thing of beauty.

Tom thanked the waitress and tried very hard not to look smug as he told Liz: “I thought you’d be hungry.”

Liz tried to glare back, but she was already picking up a piece of bacon. “Just because I’m eating this...” she started.

Tom cut her off before she could put a line in the sand that was too deep to erase later. “All right, look. I know the whole naked boat thing is a little unrealistic, but we both need to start over, right? You and me. The real me, not—”

“The neo-Nazi?” Liz offered. “Cause that doesn’t really do it for me.”

“That’s fair.” Tom made a mental note to push the tattoo removal; it was time for this damn SS tattoo to be gone.

Of course Reddington chose that time to call to call Liz. Tom tried to stop her from answering, even tossed out the idea that she could start calling him Jacob – and wouldn’t that be weird to get used to, but if it made Liz feel closer to him he’d give it a try – but she cut the conversation off and left.

At least this time when she walked away, she looked back at him. And she took some bacon with her.

Every little bit helped, right?

***

The afternoon was busy. Tom went back to the doctor and insisted that, whatever it took, the tattoo had to be gotten rid of, immediately. The doctor pushed back with dire warnings of intense pain and permanent scars, but Tom overrode him. If Reddington was right, the time Liz had left was down to days, at most. Tom didn’t want to risk ending up in the middle of the ocean and locked up in a boat with Liz with his body still marked up with these tattoos.

One extremely painful hour later, Tom was back on the streets with a bandaged neck and back, following up on a lead Ziggy had given him. It took him into a neighborhood in the process of being gentrified, to a house that looked unremarkable aside from the two men loitering on the porch, openly carrying assault rifles.

A glimpse into the briefcase got him in the door. He came out twenty minutes later with the keys to a thirty meter yacht and a hundred grand in change. Half of that went to Ziggy, who was proving to be even more valuable as a contact than he’d imagined, before he headed out to inspect the new purchase.

He was very pleased with what he found. The boat had originally been designed to house between six and eight people, but its previous owner had had the entire thing gutted and rebuilt with a large salon, a full kitchen, two bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms. The resulting space was full of mahogany, brass, and granite, so ostentatiously luxurious that no customs official would ever think to look for smuggled cargo.

The beauty of the boat was that the remodel had created massive – at least by drug smuggling standards – hidden compartments. One was large enough to hide Tom or Reddington and Liz could probably squeeze into the hole behind the couch. The smaller compartments would be perfect for hiding money and weapons, and if they ever ran low on either, they’d easily be able to use this boat to fund their escape.

Very well pleased with his purchase, Tom called Reddington to report. On the spur of the moment he called Liz as well.

He got her voicemail, which was disappointing but not surprising. He left a message, using the name he was born with and plenty of self-deprecating humor as he asked her out for a date to a restaurant owned by a guy who owed him a favor. Even as he left the message, he knew the chances of Liz showing up were slim, but as he hung up and called the restaurant to reserve a table, he found himself feeling more invested in the date than he’d expected. Sure, it wasn’t likely she’d show, but if she _did_ come... well, then he’d know. Know that she still wanted him, that she was invested in resuming their relationship.

It was a gamble, but with no downside. The worst that would happen was that she didn’t come. If so, Tom would be no worse off, and at least then he’d know that he still had work to do. And if Liz did show up, it would make getting her on the boat both much easier and a lot more fun.

Fueled by a powerful mix of adrenaline and anticipation, Tom headed back to his car. He was going to need a suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: I tried to be more realistic about tattoo removal than canon, but the fact is that it takes a long time (much longer than this story would suggest) and isn't guaranteed to be effective. When it comes to tattoos, it's best to consider them permanent and plan accordingly.


	15. Finally

All the logic in the world didn’t make it less crushing when Liz didn’t show up at the restaurant. He gave her an hour, slowly working his way through a bottle of wine he’d meant for them to share and wondering if she’d even gotten the message. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she’d gotten caught up in something. He’d caught a snippet if some sort of breaking news about a senator getting hurt. It sounded like something Reddington would bring to Liz.

Better to hope for that, than to think that Liz had listened to the message and had not only chosen not to come, but hadn’t even bothered to call him back and let him know.

Viktor came by the table, a sympathetic look on his face. “It seems you’ve been stood up, my friend.”

“Yeah,” Tom said wearily. “Seems like.”

He pulled out his wallet, but Viktor waved it away. “The wine is on the house. It looks like you needed it.”

Tom needed something a lot stronger than wine at this point, but he just nodded his thanks and headed outside, in the direction of the marina. His boat not only had a fully stocked bar, it also had a television with a satellite connection of dubious legality. If a US senator really had been attacked, chances were it was being reported somewhere.

It turned out the attack on the US senator was being reported _everywhere_ , and on every channel Tom found images of Liz tackling Senator Hawkins to the ground. Intercut with the video footage were news reports of a biological attack that had the entire area quarantined.

Swearing under his breath, Tom grabbed his phone and dialed Liz’s number. When he got her voicemail he left an urgent message for her to call him back immediately.

Over the next hour he left seven more voicemail messages before someone finally picked up. “Tom Keen?” The voice was male.

Tom hung up the phone and yanked out the sim card and battery. Shit. Now Liz had no had no way to contact him.

Pulling out a burner phone, he called Reddington. Dembe picked up. “Now’s not a good time.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Tom said flatly. “If he ever wants to see that pretty new yacht of his, you’ll put him on right the fuck now.”

There was a long pause before Reddington’s voice said, “Yes.”

“Where’s Liz? I can’t reach her.”

Reddington answered, “I can’t help you with that.”

Vague prevarication without any mention of Tom’s name. Shit. She was right there in the room with him. “I can keep her safe,” Tom reminded him. “I can help her disappear.”

Reddington hung up on him.

Tom swore virulently and hit redial. This time no one picked up.

Tom seriously considered throwing the phone into the ocean, but now that his main phone had been burned, this was the only working number that Reddington had. Considering that the yacht was in Tom’s control – and Reddington had to know that Tom had put measures in place to make sure that no one could take that yacht without his knowledge and permission – Reddington would have to call back eventually.

In fact, Reddington called back less than ten minutes later and opened with, “Lizzie can’t leave yet.”

Tom closed his eyes in irritation. “What the fuck, Reddington? Just the other day you were telling me to get her out of town.”

“That was before the Cabal made its move. If Lizzie leaves now, there’s nowhere in the world she’ll be safe. I’m working on a solution, but it’s going to take at least a day to put together.”

“Okay.” Tom took a breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“Get the boats ready—”

“Already done.”

There was a pause, either because Reddington was impressed or because he was irritated. Probably the latter. “The yacht will have to be moved, preferably within the hour. Mr. Kaplan will be in contact with directions.”

“And what about Liz?”

“I have her working on a project. Cooper’s with her.”

That wasn’t particularly reassuring. Tom liked Cooper well enough, but he wasn’t up to the level of Reddington’s people and if something went wrong... Well, at this point Tom thought – he hoped – that she would be willing to turn to him if she needed help. “What if Liz shows up here?”

Reddington sighed. “I need a day, Tom. Whatever it takes, I need you to buy me a day.”

Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “One day,” he finally said. “After that—”

“After that either she’s dead or I am,” Reddington said. “And if she’s still alive, I expect you to do everything you can to keep her that way.”

“All right. You’ve got your day.”

There was a pause, during which Tom started to wonder if Reddington was going to say thank you, but in the end all he got was a dial tone.

Tom rolled his eyes and headed out. By the time Mr. Kaplan called, he was almost to the yacht.

Moving the yacht and getting back to his car took just over an hour, thanks to Mr. Kaplan’s strident efficiency. There were still a couple of daylight hours left when Tom walked back up to his boat, mentally making a list of last minute things he’d need to do if he was leaving town forever.

The list went up in smoke when he heard a noise down in the cabin of the boat. He pulled his gun and went down below. He found Liz there waiting for him.

“Liz, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Which wasn’t true, but would’ve been if he hadn’t already known where she was.

The conversation that followed was a tricky one. After all of his pushing for Liz to leave with him, she’d be suspicious if he didn’t at least suggest that they run away together. Fortunately Reddington had already worked on Liz, because she rebuffed his not-very-insistent suggestion that they leave without Tom having to do anything as obvious as openly change his mind.

In fact, Liz was at her most persuasive, and Tom felt a swell of pleasure at how she fought for him to join her on her latest mission. He allowed himself to hold out for a bit of convincing before he agreed to join her.

As if there was any other possible outcome.

When they got to the car, Liz looked torn between dismay and admiration. “I can’t believe you still have this.”

“It’s not the same one. I got the boat for a lot less than I expected and since you liked this car so much...”

“You’re saying you got this for me,” Liz said flatly.

“Well,” Tom smiled a little. “It is a nice car.”

He knew if he looked over that Liz would be sporting her most unimpressed face, but he didn’t fail to notice the way she settled into the car with a slight smile on her lips. Right then and there he decided that this car was going to have to go into storage before they all left town. At some point in the future, he and Liz were going to have sex in it. Or maybe on it. That blue would look stunning next to Liz’s bare skin.

Between the pleasant thoughts and the quiet but agreeable company, the drive went by way too fast.

Once they were at the apartment building, Tom pushed all of his emotions away and sank into his professionalism. Next to him he saw Liz do the same, and he felt a jolt of sheer arousal at the way she strode into the building and proceeded to quickly and efficiently clear the apartment. Tom played the backup role, letting Liz do all of the mission-critical tasks while he watched her back.

In the car chase that followed, he finally got the chance to tell Liz that no, in fact, he had not hit a deer on the turnpike. Liz didn’t follow up, but Tom had a feeling there was going to be a discussion in the not-too-distant-future about what happened to Jolene.

Then there was a gunfight and all Tom could think about was the fact that bullets were flying by Liz with nothing more than a flimsy car door to protect her. When Liz abandoned even that minimal protection to run to their dying target, Tom heart stopped in his chest and he stormed around the side of the car, making himself as big a target as possible while concentrating his gunfire into the center of the windshield. The SUV pulled out quickly, but Tom felt a burst of satisfaction when one of his bullets hit the passenger in the head.

Liz was hunched over their target, looking devastated. The man was clearly dead. Tom swallowed and put a hand on her shoulder.

“My mother,” she sobbed. “He was the only one who knew about her.”

That sucked, but they’d just been in a shootout in the middle of Washington, D.C. They had to go. “Liz. Liz, he’s gone.”

She held on for a moment longer, until the sirens got loud enough that even she couldn’t ignore them any longer. Tom hauled her to her feet and got her in the car, peeling out as quickly as possible. He rolled down the shattered remains of the passenger side window and slowed to one mile above the speed limit as soon as they were a couple of blocks away from the shooting.

The drive back was silent. Liz stared out the window, tears running down her cheeks. Tom gripped the wheel with both hands and kept his mouth shut.

By the time they got back to the boat, Liz had calmed down enough to realize that she was bleeding. Tom helped her get her jacket off and dug out his first aid kit.

Liz watched him as he carefully pulled pieces of glass out of her arm. “What?” he murmured. When she just kept staring, he quirked his lips. “What?”

When she told him that she regretted not going with him, Tom’s heart soared. Unfortunately it fell a moment later as he realized they couldn’t go away. Not now. Not yet.

So he focused on her wounds, ignoring her insistence that she was alright, buying himself some time. When she asked him to take her away, Tom gave into the inevitable and told her she needed to stay, to look for answers.

He thought she’d be upset. He thought she’d question him about his inconsistency.

Instead, her eyes brimming with tears, she took him to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I've come to realize that my OTP for this show is not, in fact, Tom/Liz but rather Tom and Reddington's hate-ship. Coming soon: Reddington and Tom (and Liz) get stranded on a boat in the middle of nowhere. Whee!


	16. Escape

Exhausted, sated, elated, Tom slept dreamlessly that night. He woke up curled around Liz, awash with a feeling of _rightness_ that made it painful to leave.

His feelings didn’t matter, though, not when Liz was in danger, so he eased himself out of bed and went up to the deck to call Reddington.

“Liz is with me,” he said, though he doubted it was necessary.

“I know.”

“How’s the plan?”

“Almost ready. How’s Lizzie?”

“Really upset.” Tom hesitated, not wanting to go on, but knowing that it might be important to the success of the mission. “She asked me to take her away.”

There was a long pause. “What did you say?”

Tom tilted his head back to stare at the sky, then closed his eyes with a sigh. “I told her that if she left now, she’d regret it.”

“Good.” A beat. “Tom, it is important that Liz not leave until my plans are in place.”

“I know,” Tom gritted out. “But you can’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“I guess not. At any rate, it’s only going to be a few more hours. I need you to stay near the boat; when the time comes, Lizzie and I will join you there and you’ll take us to the yacht.”

“What about surveillance?”

“Mr. Kaplan’s taking care of that.”

“What if Liz doesn’t want to leave the boat?”

“Even better. In that case, I’ll come to you.”

“All right.” Tom thought he heard movement downstairs. “I gotta go; Liz is waking up.”

Reddington made a pained noise and hung up the phone.

Mood slightly improved, Tom headed downstairs to find Liz sitting at his laptop and wearing some of the clothes he’d bought in preparation for their trip. She stood up before he was all the way in the cabin and pulled his gun out from under the table, tucking it in the back of her pants.

Tom made a joke to cover his worry. When she started talking about going after the Cabal again, this time for Cooper, he knew he was right to worry.

“I’ll be back,” she said, pulling Tom’s suit jacket over her shirt to hide the gun.

She would, but she didn’t know that yet, so he answered, “No, you won’t.”

Liz looked conflicted, but she’d already dialed Cooper’s number in her phone. “Go,” Tom told her, and she finally walked out with her phone at her ear.

Tom leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed. He waited until he stopped feeling the boat rocking under Liz’s feet. Then he waited another couple of minutes to be sure she wasn’t coming back.

After that he pulled out his phone, feeling the seconds ticking down in the back of his head.

With Reddington’s instructions to stay near the boat, Tom had to abandon his money in the lockers around town. At least they’d be there if he ever came back. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice the car, though and, anyway, it would be dangerous to leave it abandoned at the marina. It was too flashy. Eventually someone would start asking questions.

Finding long-term storage for the car was a pain; in the end he called Ziggy, who found him someone who would drive the car and a storage locker without a lot of paperwork and questions attached.

“Thanks, Ziggy,” he said when she called back to let him know the driver was coming.

“No problem, Billy. You’ve got a lot of credit left on your account.”

He was smiling when he hung up. That had definitely been fifty thousand dollars well spent.

He’d just passed his car keys off to Ziggy’s driver when Mr. Kaplan called. “It’s time.”

Tom breathed deep, feeling something settle in himself. “I’m ready.”

“Good. I have coordinates for you.”

Tom frowned. “I thought Liz and Reddington were coming here.”

“There’ve been additional developments. Right now Agent Keen’s face cannot be seen anywhere in the metro area.”

Those must’ve been some damn big developments. “Give me the coordinates.”

The location Mr. Kaplan gave was over a hundred miles away. To get there, Tom actually passed the yacht, safely tucked away on a small – and, he assumed, privately owned – island.

As Tom pulled up near the shore at his destination, he started to wonder if there was a problem with the GPS. He didn’t see any sign of Liz or Reddington or even a place to land the boat. He was pulling out his phone to call Mr. Kaplan back when he heard a whistle.

Slowing the boat until it was drifting in the water, Tom peered into the shadowy undergrowth that lined the shore.

Reddington stepped out of the shadows and pointed a little further down. Tom eased the boat forward until he saw a dilapidated wooden pier, so weathered and broken down that it blended almost seamlessly into the water.

Liz appeared next to Reddington, looking pissed. “You’ve _got_ to be _shitting_ me.”

Yeah, getting over this was going to take some time. “In my defense,” Tom called, “Reddington shoehorned himself into my escape plan.”

“My recollection is that you blackmailed yourself into _my_ escape plan,” Reddington said prissily, picking his way along the rotting pier.

“I don’t want to talk to either of you right now,” Liz said, and she walked right past Reddington and pulled herself on board, completely ignoring Tom’s hand.

Reddington took the hand before Tom could pull it back. They glared at each other for a moment, then Tom gave into the inevitable and hauled Reddington onto the boat. Reddington wasn’t quite able to hide a wince; he probably had weeks left on his physical therapy for that gunshot wound.

By the time Reddington was on board, Liz had already gone below decks. Tom wasn’t particularly surprised to find the cabin door locked shut.

“She’s had a rough day,” Reddington said. His voice was tense and his face tightened with pain as he eased down onto the seat.

Tom eyed him askance. “How long were you out there waiting for me?”

“Couple of hours.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

A couple of hours in the woods, without a comfortable, level place to sit and a still healing chest wound. If it wasn’t Reddington, Tom might’ve felt sorry for him.

But it _was_ Reddington, so Tom just headed for the small bridge, going a step out of his way so he won’t have to actually touch Reddington.

“No,” Reddington said before Tom could even touch the wheel. “We can’t leave yet.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Are we waiting for someone else?” If so, too bad for them. As far as Tom was concerned, this boat was full, and Reddington wasn’t exactly in condition to protest.

Reddington just shook his head. “We can’t be within a hundred miles of Washington right now. Farther would be better, if you have sufficient fuel and supplies.”

“Jesus Christ. What did Liz do?”

“Killed the attorney general,” Reddington said fondly.

“Shit.” Tom rubbed his eyes. “Terrible timing.”

“Yes, well. It had to be done. He was working with the Cabal.”

A lot of things started to come together. “He was their mole?”

“One of them, at least.”

“Does that mean the task force is done?” It would be a hell of a lot easier to get away without having to dodge a dedicated task force equipped with an apparently limitless black budget.

Reddington sighed. “I don’t know. Mr. Kaplan’s keeping an eye on things. She’ll let us know when it’s safe to go to the yacht.”

Tom sat down on the opposite bench with a sigh of his own. “If the task force is still in place, they’re going to know about me.”

“They’ll know about my people, too, which is why the next contact from Mr. Kaplan will be the last.”

They sat there silently for a minute. Reddington was probably wondering about how he was going to survive long-term without tapping his extensive network. Tom was mostly wondering if that meant Ziggy was burned, too. He’d have to find out if Liz had told anyone about their little shelf corporation mission. Of course, that only worked if Liz ever decided to speak to him again.

Reddington broke the silence first. “What’s our supply situation?”

They spoke of practicalities for a couple of minutes, but there wasn’t much to discuss and soon enough they fell into silence. Tom considered his current view – water, Reddington, more water – and stood up to move to the back of the boat, where there was enough room for him to lie down on his back.

As the sun slowly sank over the trees, Tom considered the problem of the Cabal. It wasn’t a problem he’d given much thought to before – they were absurdly powerful, but they were also at a level that most criminals couldn’t hope to reach and thus didn’t need to fear. You had to be a Reddington or a Berlin to catch their attention.

Now that Reddington had brought the Cabal’s attention to Liz, Tom found himself looking back on his years of anonymity with nostalgia, because the truth was, he didn’t have the first idea how to take on a group as big and powerful as the Cabal. Running would’ve been his first option, but if Liz had actually _killed_ a highly placed Cabal agent, well... fuck. The Cabal already had vast hidden resources, but this would give them an excuse to bring down every _public_ resource of the United States government.

Presumably they still had Reddington’s blackmail file, which would buy them a little breathing room, but after that firefight in the warehouse Tom didn’t have much faith in the blackmail file providing permanent protection. Which meant that they needed to use this window to find some way to break the backbone of the Cabal.

Shit. Tom didn’t even know who the Cabal’s members were. Did Reddington have their identities? If not, they were pretty much screwed, because surveillance on a high level target like the Cabal took anonymity and vast resources, both of which were in short supply.

Unfortunately, no matter how Tom looked at the Cabal problem, he couldn’t see any way to a solution without talking to Reddington.

Not quite ready for that, Tom stood up and started down the steps to the cabin door.

“She’s not ready,” Reddington said, reclining on his own bench.

Tom ignored him. If he’d ever waited for Liz to be ready for him, they wouldn’t have gotten married, much less achieved their current détente.

Knocking on the door lightly, Tom called out, “Liz, are you okay?”

No response.

Tom considered the closed door. “Reddington’s weak. He needs to eat.”

Above Tom’s head, Reddington snorted.

Liz’s voice came through the door. “You don’t have any shame at all, do you?”

Tom grinned. “Whatever it takes, Liz.” He sobered, making sure sincerity rang in his voice as he added, “We need to talk. Without Reddington.”

Nothing happened for several long minutes, but if those months on the boat with Liz had taught Tom anything, it was patience.

Finally, he heard the lock open.

Tom sent a triumphant smirk in Reddington’s direction. Whatever Reddington thought, Tom was the one on this boat who knew Liz best.

Already planning what to say, Tom opened the cabin door and stepped inside.


	17. Small Spaces

Tom entered the room to find that Liz had already settled down at the tiny table. She looked exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed and shadowed.

“Hey,” Tom murmured, all of his preplanned statements going right out of his head. “Are you okay?”

Liz laughed hollowly. “No.” She rubbed her face, twisting her features out of shape. “I killed someone today.”

Tom eased himself down to the bench next to Liz. “You’ve killed people before.”

“In self-defense, when they’ve tried to kill me. Connolly was unarmed.”

“Was he threatening you?” Tom took a risk and slipped his arm around Liz’s shoulders.

Liz leaned into him and Tom felt a surge of protectiveness and triumph. “He was threatening all of us. Me, Cooper... all of us.”

“Then it was self-defense.”

Liz shook her head. “That’s not all.”

Tom glanced down at her. If she’d gone on a killing spree through the ranks of the Cabal, he was going to get on his knees right now and propose to her again.

“I remembered something.”

Tom squeezed her shoulders gently, pushing aside his slight sense of disappointment. “What did you remember?”

Liz let out a low, shuddering breath. “I killed my father. The night of the fire. He was hurting my mom and I – I shot him.”

Tom lifted his eyebrows, impressed. He didn’t think that was what Liz wanted to hear though, so he just rubbed her shoulder and said, “You were young. You were protecting your mother.”

“My mother the legendary international spy?” Liz asked, her voice managing to be dry, despite the dampness in her eyes. “So renowned and feared that some people thought she was a myth?”

“Love can change a person. You changed me.”

Liz looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Did I? Really?”

“You can’t tell?”

“Honestly? I’m still not sure how much was real and how much was fake.”

Tom huffed a slight laugh. “Honestly, I’m not sure either. I’ve been undercover for so long, it’s hard to remember who I used to be.” He paused, considering. “Though from what I remember, Jacob Phelps was pretty pathetic.”

Liz frowned. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true. He was a _purse-snatcher_. The only thing he had going for him was that he was better at lying to the police than most.”

Liz’s frown turned thoughtful. “You talk about him like he’s another person.”

“He feels like a different person. He doesn’t feel connected to me at all.”

Liz’s thoughtful expression grew sharper, and Tom felt a sense of foreboding. “At that diner you suggested I call you Jacob.”

Tom winced. “You said you wanted to know the real me and I – Liz, I don’t even know who the real me is. The only thing I know for sure is that I love you.”

“Tom...” Liz sighed. “That’s really sad.”

Tom closed his eyes. “No shit.”

They sat there quietly for a few moments.

“Tom?”

“Yeah, Liz?”

“Or do you like Jacob better?”

“I prefer Tom,” Tom said firmly.

“Well, that’s one thing you know about yourself.”

That was a _second_ thing, at the very least, but if Liz was going to pretend that she didn’t remember that, he wasn’t going to push.

“Tom – I don’t think I can love someone I don’t know.”

“Liz—”

“And I can’t know someone who doesn’t know himself,” she finished gently.

Tom thought for a moment. “I know I don’t like Reddington.”

Liz’s lips quirked up. “I swear, you two are like children.”

Tom felt a brief moment of triumph that he’d made her smile, but it quickly faded. “I know I wanted our baby,” he said quietly.

Liz sighed again. “Tom...”

Tom hastily cut her off. “I understand why we couldn’t do it. Looking at how things turned out, it’s a good thing we didn’t. But still...”

Liz gave him a watery smile. “I miss her, too.” She twisted in her seat and brought her arms up to wrap them around Tom.

Tom hugged her back tightly, pressing his face into her neck and surrounding himself with her scent. When Liz pulled back, Tom had to fight down the urge to continue to keep clutching.

There was another silence, this one filled with discreet wiping of eyes and clearing of throats.

“Whatever happened to Hudson, anyway?” Tom asked, once he could speak in a steady voice.

Liz let out a watery laugh. “Ellie has him. I tried to keep him while living in the hotel – I picked it because it allowed dogs – but he just wasn’t happy.”

Tom was surprised by how relieved he was. One more thing to know about himself: he really liked his dog. “She’ll take good care of him.”

“She will. She has, from what I can tell.” Off Tom’s questioning look, she added, “Ellie’s not really talking to me. I don’t know if you remember, but she was the one who helped me get the bullets out of you before...”

“Before the boat?”

Liz nodded. She looked ashamed.

Tom put his arm back around her shoulders. “You know, I don’t blame you for that.”

“Really?” Incredulity dripped off the word.

“We were combatants.”

“We were _married_.”

“I used a false name.”

“So?”

“That makes it fraud, not marriage.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about legalities. We were _married_ , and I chained you up and locked you in a boat for _months_.”

“You did, but I don’t mind.”

“You seemed to mind at the time.”

Tom shrugged. “I was cold and hungry and I hadn’t seen sunlight in four months.”

Liz made a pained noise.

“I’m not saying it was pleasant, but I was a prisoner. As prisons go, it wasn’t really that bad.”

“You’ve been in worse?”

“Much worse.”

Before Liz could respond, the cabin door opened. “It’s getting cold out there,” Reddington said grumpily. He sat down at the table, which required him getting closer than Tom liked. “What do we have for dinner?”

Tom glared, pointedly tightening his grip around Liz’s shoulders.

In retaliation, Liz elbowed him in the ribs. Sharply.

Tom choked down a pained grunt and let Liz go. “Let me see what we have,” she said, sliding off the bench.

Tom glanced over at Reddington, who looked unhappy at the prospect of having to eat Liz’s cooking. For that reason alone, Tom was inclined to let her work her black magic, but they didn’t really have enough supplies to let Liz spoil any of them. “I’ll get it,” he said, getting up and gently nudging Liz aside with his hip. “You take care of Reddington. If he dies, Mr. Kaplan’s going to eviscerate us.”

Liz looked deeply unimpressed by this argument, but went back to the table. Tom pulled out some pasta and a jar of sauce. It was the easiest meal he had on the boat that wasn’t sandwiches, and it allowed him to look busy while still leaving him plenty of concentration for eavesdropping on Liz and Reddington.

They started with a discussion of Reddington’s physical condition, which wasn’t quite as bad as Tom had thought; his current discomfort was apparently the result of hiking several miles from the road to the shore. Between them they decided that all Reddington needed was time and rest. Tom resigned himself to giving up his bed to Reddington and began planning a psychological warfare campaign to get them onto the much roomier yacht as quickly as possible.

The conversation then moved onto what to do about the Cabal and Tom slowed his pasta stirring to make sure he didn’t miss a single word. 

“Lizzie, there’s something important I need to tell you. Before we left, I leaked the blackmail file to the press.”

Tom dropped his spoon.

Liz sounded like she was choking. “You _what_? But that was the only thing keeping us safe!”

“The Fulcrum was only valuable as a deterrent. Now that they’ve attacked me, _us_ , directly, we have to retaliate. If we don’t, they’ll assume that we won’t use the Fulcrum the next time they attack.”

“But now we don’t even _have_ the Fulcrum.”

Tom glanced over his shoulder to see Reddington shrugging. “It was outliving some of the members of the Cabal, so it was outliving its usefulness.”

That was fair. Liz seemed to think so, too, because she moved on. “What do we do now, then?”

“Now, we wait for two things to happen. First, for the FBI to give up on—”

“The FBI is not going to give up,” Liz said flatly.

Reddington sighed in annoyance. “A lockdown on the nation’s capital takes an obscene amount of money and interferes with the lives of a lot of powerful people. If they can maintain it for a week, I’ll be surprised.”

“Plus, you drove out of town,” Tom added, having decided that his pasta stirring wasn’t really that believable anymore. “There’s no reason for them to be watching the water that closely.”

Reddington shot Tom an extremely unamused look. Tom gave back his best innocent smile. 

“Mr. Kaplan is tracking the Coast Guard. She’ll call me as soon as they are redeployed.”

Tom was quite sure that if the Coast Guard wasn’t redeployed in the next few days, Mr. Kaplan would find a way to make them redeploy. This wasn’t going to be a good week to be a smuggler on the east coast.

“What’s the other thing we’re waiting for?” Liz asked, demonstrating an astonishing degree of obliviousness to social tension. Tom couldn’t tell if it was legit or a defense mechanism to the prospect of spending an indefinite amount of time stuck in a small boat with him and Reddington.

“For the Fulcrum to do its job,” Reddington answered, “and bring down the Cabal.”

Tom shared a glance with Liz. “It’s twenty years old,” she said. “Do you really think it’s going to get everyone?”

Reddington laughed that obnoxious fake laugh of his that made Tom want to stab in him the neck with a fork. “Of course not! But it will be enough to take down _some_ of the Cabal. Once the dust settles, we’ll see who is left and plan accordingly.”

“Do you have a list of everyone in the Cabal?” Tom asked, turning the heat off under the food.

“I know enough to be able to identify them if necessary.” Reddington pushed himself to his feet and took the single step necessary to get him into the galley. He leaned over the pasta pot and took an ostentatious sniff. “Mm. Something smells good.”

Tom gritted his teeth, thought about Mr. Kaplan castrating him with a pair of fingernail scissors, and went for plates.

Dinner was a mostly silent affair, with Liz physically putting herself between Tom and Reddington at the table. Afterwards there was a brief discussion of who would be sleeping where. Reddington was obviously taking the bed and Tom had already decided to bunk down on the deck. Liz was a little more difficult: she couldn’t sleep on deck, just in case the Coast Guard found them, and Tom was letting her sleep with Reddington over his dead body. Any of their dead bodies.

Liz let the argument go on for a few seconds before shoving them both off the bench that surrounded the table. Inspecting it for a few seconds, she found a hidden lever and suddenly the whole thing was a very narrow bed.

“Huh,” Tom said. He'd known that the lever did that, but it never occurred to him that someone could actually sleep on that tiny space.

“It’ll do for now,” Liz said, before Tom could say anything. “And I don’t know about you two, but it’s been a really long day and I could use some sleep.”

It hadn’t been that long of a day for Tom – mostly just a lot of waiting around and making phone calls – but he obligingly gathered up a spare blanket and headed up on deck, taking a second in the process to shoot Reddington a look that hopefully conveyed, “touch her and I’ll gut you in your sleep.”

Reddington just looked amused, the bastard.

It was very dark outside, with only the light of the stars and the smallest sliver of a moon to see by. Tom stopped just outside the cabin door to give his eyes a moment to adjust, then pulled a folding chair out of the cabinet under the port-side bench. Settling into the chair, wrapped in the blanket, Tom stared up at the stars and thought about what Liz had said about love. About how she couldn’t love a man who didn’t know himself.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand where she was coming from. If a man didn’t know himself, what was to say he wouldn’t turn into someone else at the turn of a dime? Especially with someone like Tom, whose life’s work was to disguise himself so thoroughly that even he didn’t know where the disguise ended and he began.

Unfortunately, that still left the question: who the fuck was Tom Keen?


	18. Revelations

By morning, the only conclusion Tom had come to about himself was that he didn’t mind sleeping outdoors on a boat, though it would have been better with a mattress of some sort.

He pissed over the side of the deck, giving Liz a bit more time to wake up before heading down to cook breakfast.

There was a question – did he like cooking? He usually did it, because Liz was a disaster in the kitchen and it was tough enough to stay reasonably in shape as an elementary school teacher without eating takeout every meal. 

But if there was no Liz, if he had plenty of time and money and freedom to do whatever he wanted – would he choose to cook? Or would he live on prepared food?

As he sat there on the deck, watching the water and feeling the sun warming the air against his skin, Tom thought back to the times that he had cooked in the past. The shaggy feel of biscuit dough against his fingers. The rich smell of chicken roasting in the oven. The sweetness of the tomato in his homemade marinara sauce.

The reflection didn’t really give him an answer on whether he liked cooking, but it did make him hungry.

He gave up on Liz’s beauty rest and headed downstairs, only to find her already awake, sitting at the restored table bench, and working on the laptop.

“Connolly still in the news?”

“Only on the top of every single website.” She sighed and closed the laptop. “You should make pancakes.”

Tom frowned and turned around from the cupboard. “You said you hated pancakes.”

“I do, but I can’t believe that I’m a good enough actor that you never noticed. Maybe you kept making them because you really like them.”

Tom’s frown deepened. “I’m not going to make something I know you hate.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “I can make my own breakfast.”

Tom stared at her.

“I can make toast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, now you’re just being a jackass.”

Tom grinned. “Maybe. There really isn’t room here for two cooks, though, and I don’t have the ingredients for pancakes on this boat.”

“What about on the yacht?”

“Reddington told you?”

“You and I had time to talk alone yesterday. Reddington wanted the same.”

“Of course he did.” Tom got out the instant oatmeal; there really wasn’t much room for cooking on this boat and all of the supplies he’d laid in could be cooked with nothing more than a pot and water. “What else did you talk about?”

“Mostly about my mom.” Liz smiled wistfully. “Turns out she was a double agent. Reddington was her handler.”

“Really?” Tom lost interest in the oatmeal and turned his attention to Liz. He’d always wondered what caused Reddington to abandon military intelligence for a life of crime; maybe it had to do with what happened to Liz’s mother.

Not a chance that Liz would give him that kind of gossip on Reddington, though, so Tom kept his questions strictly on Liz’s mom. Based on the vagueness of Liz’s answers, Tom was starting to see a massive Reddington-shaped hole.

A nagging question that he’d had many times before popped up yet again. After all, it wasn’t as if it was uncommon for handlers to get closer than they should. “Liz, are you sure Reddington isn’t your father?”

Liz laughed without humor. “Trust me, I’ve been asking myself that exact same question.”

“How can you not know the answer? I mean, you’re physically near him all the time. You must’ve had plenty of opportunities to get a DNA sample.”

Liz glanced at the closed door that led to the bedroom. Tom moved closer to the table, intrigued. “Actually,” she whispered, “I did get a paternity test done. After I found that photo in his apartment, I just couldn’t stand to not know the answer and I had a shirt that was covered with his blood, so it was easy to get a sample.” She shrugged diffidently. “The test came back negative.”

“So he’s not your father,” Tom whispered back.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“He’s been having me watched, Tom, you know that. He had to know that I mailed the samples in. What if he had the results changed?”

That was actually an excellent point.

“I can’t believe you’ve worked with him for over a year and still don’t know for sure that he is or is not related to you.”

The door to the bedroom suddenly opened, cutting off whatever response Liz might’ve made.

“What are you two whispering about out here?” Reddington asked. He looked tired, and a little cranky, and was dressed in Tom’s robe, which was at least two sizes too small.

Tom stuck his hand in his pocket, fingering his cell phone and debating whether a blackmail picture was worth the risk of getting knifed in the kidneys.

“Are you okay?” Liz asked, getting up from the table to hover over Reddington. “You look like you could use more sleep.”

“It’s surprisingly hard to sleep when two people are sharing state secrets five feet away.” He glanced at Tom. “I hope the yacht has thicker walls.”

It did, but Tom was happy to leave Reddington guessing. “You look great in my robe,” he said instead.

Reddington looked put-upon. “I couldn’t find any clothes in my size.”

“Well, as you might remember, I was only planning on using this boat for me and Liz.”

“Tom,” Liz said, sounding exasperated.

That took much of the fun out of it, so Tom just sighed and went over to the bench Liz had slept on. Pushing the hidden lever in the other direction opened up a storage compartment that had a thin layer of clothes covering up a false bottom. “These really are all I have,” he said, passing the clothes to Reddington. “We were only supposed to be on this boat for a few hours, so I put most of the clothes Mr. Kaplan provided on the yacht.”

Reddington took the clothes. “It seems my joining this escape is fortuitous. Someone on this boat should have some idea of strategy and planning.”

“So you’re clearly feeling better,” Liz said brightly, before Tom could come up with an adequate answer to the insult.

Reddington’s face softened. “How are you feeling this morning, Lizzie?”

“I’m okay.” She glanced at the laptop. “The first story broke this morning. No names, yet, but it’s definitely caught the attention of the press.”

“That didn’t take long.” Reddington looked impressed. “It’s good to know that some people do live up to their reputation.”

Tom scowled, but Liz stepped on his foot and he kept quiet.

“We’re about to have oatmeal,” Liz added. “And then we’re going to play poker to see if Tom still likes it.”

The poker plan was news to Tom, but he could roll with it. “Strip poker, actually. Want to join?”

“We’re not playing strip poker,” Liz said, rolling her eyes. “You, go get dressed. _You_ , go make the oatmeal.”

Tom smirked and got the pot out.

After breakfast, they did play poker. Tom broke out one of his money stashes to give them something meaningful to play with and Liz designated herself dealer. They played for a couple of hours, with Tom and Reddington absolutely ruthless with each other. Tom found himself grinning fiercely whenever he managed drag Reddington into high stakes, sometimes betting outrageous amounts, just to see if Reddington would go all in. It wasn’t a particularly effective way to play – Liz ended up cleaning both of them out – but it was definitely fun.

“I like poker,” Tom said over lunch.

“Good,” Liz said with a smile. “What do you want to try next?”

Tom was still thinking that over when Reddington said, “I think you two should fight.”

Instinctively, Tom opened his mouth to cut Reddington off at his knees. Fortunately he managed to stop himself in time, because the idea of sparring with Liz actually had a lot of potential. Not that he would say so out loud. In fact, he waited until Liz turned to him and asked, “What do you think?” before casually agreeing that it was a way to pass the time.

Sparring with Liz was even more fun than he’d expected. They started slow, getting a feel for the space they had available on the deck, but quickly sped up to actual fighting speed. Tom had the advantage in size, speed and experience, but Liz fought dirty and without shame and it didn’t take long before they were both sweaty and out of breath.

“Do you like this?” Liz asked as they took a break on the bench opposite Reddington, who had been watching them fight with a thoughtful expression.

“What’s not to like?” Tom said, feeling on top of the world. “By the way, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while – you favor your right side when fighting.”

“I what?” Liz asked, her voice dangerously low.

Reddington beamed.

The next couple of hours were exhausting and painful, but the largest holes in Liz’s fighting style had been patched, Reddington had contributed knowledge of a nerve cluster in the neck that could disable most opponents within seconds, and Tom had a great time, even if the fight had ended with him in the water.

Best of all, the haunted expression that Liz had been wearing since she got on the boat was now completely gone and she actually laughed as they went downstairs. Tom left the cooking to Reddington and took advantage of the shower, though between the foot pump, the salt water directly from the ocean, and the lack of heating, he kept the shower very short. Life was going to be so much better on the yacht, which was currently carrying two hundred gallons of fresh water in four pressurized tanks. It also had a water heater. Tom couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a hot shower.

He came out of the head to find Reddington scrambling eggs in a saucepan over the hotplate, while Liz focused intently on the laptop. “Any news?” he asked, rubbing a towel over his hair.

Liz looked up, her face drawn. “They’re reporting that John Hinckley, Jr. was brainwashed into shooting Reagan.”

“Holy shit.” Tom sat down next to her so he could read the article, too.

“This is just the beginning,” Reddington said from the galley. “Hinckley’s still alive, which probably made this one of the easier stories to verify.”

Two hours later, the news sites exploded when Hinckley was found dead at his mother’s home in Virginia.

Tom and Liz spent the entire night hunched over the laptop, refreshing constantly as the news sites enjoyed a lavish feast of revelations, scandals, and tragedies. Tom wasn’t sure who Reddington leaked the Fulcrum to, but whoever it was was clearly working overtime. Unlike most big news events, there was no endless rehashing of tiny details and white noise commentary to fill time between revelations. In fact, there was so much coming out now that it was hard to keep it all straight and the tide of information was relentless. Around three in the morning the news anchors started dropping like flies, being replaced by second stringers who all sported a shell-shocked giddiness at being handed career-making stories on a silver platter.

Liz fell asleep around four, toppling over until her head was resting on Tom’s shoulder. He glanced over when he felt her shift and his heart thumped hard in his chest as Liz smiled softly and snuggled closer.

Moving as carefully as he could, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to help hold her in place. Using his free hand, he carefully brushed a strand of hair off her face and tucked it behind an ear before turning back to the laptop.

It was harder to pay attention to the news now. Tom kept getting distracted by feel of Liz’s chest brushing against his as she slept, and every few minutes he found himself giving into the urge to look down, just to be sure that Liz was still there and still sleeping. Thinking about where they’d been just a few weeks ago, it felt like a miracle that Liz trusted him enough to sleep in his arms.

Reddington woke up a little after seven, and came out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes. He looked better than he had the morning before, and he was wearing the wrinkled clothes from his first day, rather than Tom’s robe. “You’re still watching that?”

Tom shushed him, tilting his head toward Liz. Reddington smiled a little and sat down on the only free spot on the bench which was, unfortunately, right next to Tom.

Not much Tom could do about it, though, and honestly he was too tired at that point to really care that much. “I keep waiting for them to run out of new news,” he said quietly. “At some point they have to start recycling it. I’ll sleep then.”

Reddington let out a noise that would have been a snort if he weren’t Reddington. “The information in that file has kept me safe for _decades_ , Tom. Right now they’re just scratching the surface. These stories are the ones that are still relevant and easy to prove and they might run out of those soon enough. But you’ll be hearing news from this leak for months, maybe even years, to come.”

“Christ.” Tom rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “There’s no place on earth we’ll be safe after this, is there?”

“Cheer up,” Reddington said with obnoxious cheerfulness. “With any luck, most of the Cabal will be dead soon.” He slapped Tom on the shoulder – and only tired reflexes and the warm pressure of Liz on his other side kept Tom from taking that hand off at the wrist – and went into the galley to start making breakfast.

Liz woke up just before noon, right in time to see the arrests starting. Watching a Senator being escorted to a police car wasn’t a common sight and the news anchors – who returned en masse from their naps in the early morning, with dark shadows under their eyes that the makeup couldn’t quite cover – and more than one network indulged in a fair amount of glee at the sight.

Ten minutes later, the police car carrying Senator Bosin went over a bridge and the entire news universe went apeshit.

A couple dozen people were arrested that afternoon, about half of which died through accidents and/or spontaneous medical crises. Rabbi Boshkowitz had a heart attack just before the police arrived at his door. Captain Peretti ate eggs cooked in peanut oil and died of anaphylactic shock. High Lamas Choegyal died when a rock slide took out his home. Ambassador Morokov suffered a fatal brain aneurysm, which Tom suspected was lead-based.

At this point, Tom was just waiting for one of the anchors to either faint or to have a spontaneous orgasm on air as they dreamed about their future Pulitzers. The networks must’ve feared something similar, because the on-air personalities started working in three-hour shifts. By late evening, this resulted in a couple of people showing up who looked like they’d just stepped out of journalism school. At least one suffered a panic attack on air, which almost resulted in an on-air faint. Tom counted that as a point for himself.

The deaths stopped near midnight. Either the person arranging them realized that they were just bringing more attention to the situation, or had decided that the house of cards was done for and it wasn’t worth the effort. Or maybe was one of the people arrested. By that point there had been more than forty arrests internationally, with a third or so of the arrested so elderly that they probably weren’t involved in the Cabal anymore. Tom didn’t particularly give a shit. They'd made their bed.

Liz gave up in the middle of all of this and went into the bedroom for some actual sleep. Tom wistfully watched her go, but didn’t try to follow. At this point Reddington looked like he was healthy enough to follow through on a murder threat.

As he watched the arrest of the sultan of some Middle Eastern state he’d never heard of before, Tom commented, “When I first heard about the Fulcrum, I didn’t think it was worth all the fuss.”

“And now?” Reddington asked.

“Now I’m surprised there wasn’t _more_ of a fuss.”

“To be fair, not everyone in the Cabal knew about the Fulcrum. And for a long time, not many people cared. I originally created it for protection for Katarina, when she defected from the Russians. The information about everyone else was just included because the Fulcrum is the safest form of electronic storage I’ve seen, before or since.

“After Katarina died—”

“And you turned into an international criminal,” Tom cut in.

Reddington looked surprised.

“Don’t look like that. I did more than seduce women, you know.”

“I know,” Reddington answered, which wasn’t what Tom expected. “In fact, I know more than you realize.”

“Like what?” Tom asked warily.

Reddington eyed him for several seconds, until Tom’s fingers itched to form a fist. “I know how the Major trains his recruits. And I know that he took a special interest in you.”

“You son of a bitch,” Tom gritted out.

“Have you told Lizzie, Tom?”

Tom glared at him.

Reddington smiled placidly. “You should.”

“Why? You hoping she’ll dump me again?”

“I think you underestimate Lizzie.”

Too furious for words, Tom growled.

Reddington’s smile was now distinctly smug. “You should get some rest. I expect Mr. Kaplan will be calling soon.”

Tom stormed out onto the deck and immediately went into Christof Mannheim’s workout regime. The rage began to calm after a couple of minutes, but he kept on going until he was covered in sweat and his muscles burned.

Feeling bone-tired and strangely hollowed out, Tom dropped down on one of the padded benches and let his head fall back as he considered what Reddington said. Should he tell Liz about his life with the Major? It would help her understand his disconnect from Jacob Phelps. It might even help her understand why he had such a tough time knowing himself.

But the thought of her knowing what he’d done... what had been done to him...

Tom hunched forward and buried his face in his hands. Maybe it would help Liz to understand him better but he thought it was much more likely that once she knew everything, she’d never want to see him again.


	19. Moving Forward

Tom woke up groggy and still tired. It was light out, but he didn’t feel like he’d gotten enough sleep to make up for a full night without. Sleeping on the deck didn’t help, though he had a blanket over him, which meant Liz must be up and feeling generous. He considered turning over and getting more sleep, but checking in with Liz sounded more appealing and he dragged himself upright.

When he went into the cabin of the boat, he found Reddington staring at the laptop and no Liz in sight.

Tom frowned. “Did Liz go back to sleep?”

“She hasn’t gotten up yet.”

That meant the blanket – no. No, there had to be another explanation, which Tom was going to take on faith, because this was a mystery he didn’t need to solve. “What’s the latest news?”

Reddington turned the computer around. The main headline screamed STONEBURNER ARRESTED.

“Stoneburner?”

“He’s an English MP,” Reddington said. “That’s not the important article.” He scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled some more. Near the bottom of the page was a small headline barely larger than the text of the article: ASSISTANT DEPUTY DIRECTOR OF CIA ARRESTED FOR DUI.

“Cover story?”

“He’s actually the director of the National Clandestine Service and second in command at the Cabal.”

Tom eyed the picture with interest. “We going after him?”

“No. He’ll be dead before nightfall. But now that he’s gone, we have a window of opportunity.”

“Time to get to the yacht?”

“Yes.”

Reddington turned the laptop back around and began typing, ignoring Tom’s pointed stare.

Tom gave up and started on breakfast.

He had eaten and, reluctantly, fed Reddington, and settled down to read the latest news on the laptop – Reddington having abandoned it to settle into some very ostentatious thinking up on deck – when Liz came out of the bedroom.

“Hey,” she said, sliding onto the bench and leaning against Tom’s side.

Tom obligingly lifted his arm so Liz could settle herself more comfortably, then dropped his arm around her shoulders. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead. What’s the latest news?”

“Someone very important in the Cabal was just arrested.”

“Really?” Liz sat up a little straighter, but didn’t shift out from under Tom’s arm. “Who?”

Tom found the article again and let Liz read. When she was done, he said, “We’re just waiting for Mr. Kaplan’s call before—”

“I know him,” Liz said, blankly. 

“What?”

“That’s the man I blackmailed with the Fulcrum.”

Tom looked at the picture next to the article with considerably more interest. “Huh. Reddington says he’ll be dead soon.”

Liz’s face tightened. “Good.” She pushed the laptop away. “We’re moving to the yacht soon?”

“As soon as Mr. Kaplan calls. I’m sure she’s reorganizing the military on the entire east coast, even as we speak.”

“I’m sure.” Liz bit her lip, looking like she was biting down on a smile. “Are we taking Reddington to Micronesia with us?”

“Absolutely not,” Reddington said, entering the cabin and taking the words right out of Tom’s mouth. “The Fulcrum has proven itself even more effective than I’d anticipated. It’s not time to run away. It’s time to go on the offensive.”

Tom exchanged a glance with Liz, who slid out from under his arm and shifted until she was sitting upright. Tom swallowed his disappointment and turned his attention to Reddington. “I thought Liz had to lie low.”

“She does, for now, in the United States. She should be safe enough in other countries as long as we limit her time on shore and keep her from areas with high levels of surveillance. Fortunately, we have a convenient means of travel that avoids most surveillance.”

“Which was my idea,” Tom reminded him.

Reddington didn’t even glance Tom’s way. “With Green gone—” presumably Green was the guy Liz had blackmailed “—and the deaths of Bosin, Stoneburner, and Assaf, there are just a few strands left holding the Cabal together. If we eliminate those, the threat disappears.”

“I killed Connelly,” Liz said. “Erasing the Cabal isn’t going to change that. Red, I’m _right next to you_ on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”

Reddington waved that away. “Once the Cabal is gone, so is the pressure to arrest you.”

Liz let out an exasperated sigh. “The FBI isn’t going to give up. Especially not if what you heard is true and Ressler’s in charge.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed at the name. “The dick from Germany?”

Liz looked annoyed. “For the record, jealousy is not cute.”

“Who’s jealous?”

Liz rolled her eyes and turned to Reddington. “The FBI?”

“I trust that, with the Cabal gone, the FBI will be able to recognize the truth. _Especially_ if Agent Ressler is in charge.” Reddington looked smug.

Tom gritted his teeth, but didn’t rise to the bait. “What are these ‘strands’ you’re talking about?”

Reddington sobered. “There are three. All are in the highest echelon of the Cabal and comprise the last remnants of the inner circle. These were the decision makers and the keepers of secrets. Without them, any remaining members of the Cabal will be reduced to skulking in shadows.”

It sounded so easy when Reddington put it that way, but Tom wasn’t an idiot. Anyone powerful enough to run an organization as far reaching as the Cabal was going to have personal security that world leaders would envy.

“So who are these three? And how do we get to them?” Liz asked.

Reddington glanced at the only free seat – next to Tom – and moved to the galley, where he leaned back against the counter. “The three are Damien Moreau, General Chao, and General Eichhart.”

“Two generals?” Tom asked.

“He who controls the military, controls the power,” Reddington said mildly. “Also, journalists trying to get information out of the military tend to hit a much thicker wall than those protecting politicians.”

“General _William_ Eichhart?” Liz asked. “Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”

“The one and the same.”

Liz looked about as stunned as Tom felt.

“He’ll be the most difficult,” Reddington admitted. “I recommend leaving him for last. And since none of us are going to remotely effective in China, my plan is to outsource General Chao.”

“Why not do the same with all of them?” Tom asked warily. It’d be a lot easier and safer to hang out in the middle of the ocean on the yacht and let Reddington’s money and people get the job done.

“Because, as loathe as I am to admit it, you are the best at what you do.” Reddington tightened his lips. “I wouldn’t have trusted Lizzie to anyone less.”

Tom smirked at that unexpected, but very satisfying revelation. A glance at Liz showed her looking at him with raised eyebrows. Tom decided to interpret that as her being impressed.

“Besides,” Reddington added. “Damien Moreau just happens to be in San Lorenzo, which doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

Well, shit. Tom wasn’t about to say so out loud, but that was brilliant. It’d keep Liz safe, give them all something to occupy themselves with so they didn’t kill each other from cabin fever, and potentially take out a major threat.

Liz was looking thoughtful. “Damien Moreau. Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Reddington’s face lit up. Tom stifled a groan and settled in for what was undoubtedly going to be a long story. “Ten years ago, Damien Moreau was _the_ financier for the global underground. He laundered and banked money for everyone from the Russian mafia to the North Korean government. On top of that, he had a very lucrative sideline in commodities. Nuclear material, Iraqi antiquities, politicians – there was nothing he couldn’t move.”

“I remember now,” Liz said. “He had a warrant out for his arrest. He was dealing in blood diamonds.”

Reddington laughed. “True irony. Everyone in the world believes Moreau sold blood diamonds, but that’s one of the few crimes he’s never committed. A few years back, Moreau ran up against a team of reformed thieves. It seems they couldn’t find proof of his actual wrongdoings, so they framed him for a variety crimes. The blood diamonds were part of that. He was arrested five years ago in San Lorenzo.”

Tom felt his eyebrows crawling toward his hairline. He’d heard about the team Reddington was talking about; they never hurt anyone and usually targeted minor targets, like corporations, one percenters, and low-level local criminals. “That’s one of the Cabal’s top men?”

“Before his arrest they were just one of his clients. Without an obvious replacement for his skills, they found that the best solution was to break him out. He’s worked exclusively for the Cabal ever since.

“Moreau is ambitious, clever, and utterly ruthless. He rapidly rose through the ranks of the Cabal, buying or killing anyone who stood in his way.”

“And no one minded him killing other members of the Cabal?” Liz asked.

“The Cabal care about power,” Reddington said, doing an impressive job of not looking like he wanted to laugh at Liz’s naiveté. “And the man who handles the money has plenty of power.”

“If he’s that powerful, how do we get to him?” Tom asked. “San Lorenzo only has a few hundred thousand people. A country that size, Moreau could own the entire military, police force, _and_ government.”

“I’m sure he does,” Reddington answered. “We’ll have to—” He was cut off by his phone ringing. Looking at the screen, he answered, “Mr. Kaplan, you have no idea how happy I am to hear from you.”

Tom sighed, but headed up to the bridge without complaint. It wasn’t like they didn’t have time to plan – it was going to take days, if not weeks, to get to San Lorenzo.

~~~

According to the charts that came with the boat, it would take them nine to ten days to get to San Lorenzo, depending on the weather.

By day three, Tom had come to the conclusion that this whole boat plan was a _terrible_ idea.

For one thing, he was getting tired of piloting. A yacht this size was really meant to be piloted by some sort of crew and, even with the modifications the previous owner had made, it still required a person at the wheel at all times. For safety’s sake, Liz had chanced a couple of hours aboveboard to learn how to pilot, but her face was still appearing regularly on the news and they couldn’t risk running into another ship while she was on deck.

That left Tom and Reddington as the only ones who could man the wheel on an ongoing basis. After some trial and error – including one shouting match that nearly came to blows – they’d settled into a pattern of two six hour shifts between six at night and six in the morning, and two hour shifts the rest of the day. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but it allowed for them both to get several hours of uninterrupted sleep at night, and after dark Liz could help out at least long enough to relieve them for bathroom breaks.

As for Liz – well, Liz was starting to go a little stir-crazy. Tom could hardly blame her. Compared to Tom’s boat, the yacht was a palace, but below decks was still only a few hundred square feet, most of which was taken up with built-in furniture, hidden compartments, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Tom had done what he’d could when he was stocking the yacht, filling the laptop with movies and audio books, loading up a pair of Kindles with novels, and even putting a bunch of stupid games on the tablet.

Diving into everything with enthusiasm, Liz managed to keep herself sane for a day and a half.

Then she started trying to cook. Tom winced at the memory.

There was a brief respite when Liz decided to give the saltwater hot tub a try. She’d woken up the following morning in a fabulous mood, which lasted until the middle of Tom’s last break, when she started pacing the cabin.

At least she hasn’t started throwing things, though Tom figured that was just a matter of time.

The cabin door slammed shut and Tom glanced back to see Reddington climbing up the steps to the bridge. “You’re early.”

“Lizzie has started to do calisthenics. I didn’t want to inadvertently end up with an elbow in the eye.”

Tom eyed the ocean swells dubiously. There were granite countertops downstairs. If Liz lost her balance...

“Here, you take the wheel. I’ll go check in on her.”

It was a sign of how dire circumstances were that Reddington didn’t protest.

Tom paused just outside the cabin door and took a deep breath, deciding what to say.

Opening the door, Tom stepped in to find Liz on the floor doing pushups. She was wearing a tank top and yoga pants, and she was already starting to sweat. Tom felt his mouth go dry and it took him a moment to remember what he’d planned to say. “Want to fight?”

Liz jumped up to her feet. “No,” she said, pushing her damp hair off her face. She stared at him for a moment. “No, I want to fuck.”

Tom felt his jaw sag. He forced it back into place and tried to sound suave as he said, “Okay. Sure. Now?”

Liz shot him a filthy look. “Why are you still dressed?”

Oh, shit. It was like his fantasies were coming to life. Tom ripped off his tee-shirt, toed off his shoes, and shoved down his pants, all in less than ten seconds.

Liz smirked as she stepped closer. “This is turning you on,” she said as she circled him like a bird of prey evaluating her kill.

Tom could hardly deny it; the evidence was right there for Liz to see. What was also evident was how much Liz liked Christof Mannheim’s body. Her eyes kept drifting to his oblique muscles, and she actually stopped for a few seconds right behind him. He tightened his glutes and reveled in Liz’s barely audible gasp.

After a couple of leisurely circles, Liz stopped in front of him and reached out to run a single finger up Tom’s hardening cock. “You’re being quiet.”

Honestly, Tom hadn’t been able to think of anything to say, but he remembered his dreams and took a risk. “You didn’t give me permission to speak.”

Liz’s head snapped up at that, and she inspected Tom’s face with narrowed eyes.

Tom stood still and endured, his cock getting harder with every passing second.

After a few seconds, Liz took a step back and Tom felt a brief moment of panic. Had he fucked up already?

“Go into the master bedroom and wait for me at the foot of the bed.”

Tom’s heart began to race as blood rushed south.

“On your knees,” Liz added.

So hard now that he ached, Tom covered the distance in less than ten steps.

He was kneeling on the soft, dense carpet for nearly a minute before Liz walked in wearing nothing but the tank top without the bra underneath. There was a brief moment of awkwardness as Liz tried to navigate the tiny space between the door and the bed, with Tom taking up much of the space in between, but she managed it with grace and by the time she sat on the bed with her legs spread just a few inches away from Tom’s face, the mood was fully restored. Tom stared into the shadowed space at the juncture of her thighs, already anticipating her taste upon his tongue.

“So it seems the new you has a few new kinks.”

“Hm?” Tom said, too distracted by the tantalizing treat that was just barely out of reach. “Sorry?”

A cool finger slid under his chin and forced his face up until he was looking at Liz’s eyes. “Kinks. You have some new ones?”

“I—maybe?”

“Maybe?”

“I’ve been having some dreams.”

“Mmm.” Liz looked intrigued. “Want to tell me about them?”

Tom shook his head rapidly, dislodging Liz’s finger from his chin. Shit, some of the things Liz did to him in his dreams... he wasn’t sure he even wanted them. Fantasies didn’t always line up with reality.

Liz watched him silently for a moment before saying, “Next time.” She widened her legs. “Come here.”

Tom dove in, taking that as permission to go down on her with enthusiasm. He grabbed her thighs to hold her legs wider and got his tongue deep inside her. It was infinitely wetter and more difficult than it had been in his dream, but Liz was clutching his hair and moaning loudly above him and every second was pure bliss.

Unable to take it any longer, he snuck one hand down between his legs and grasped his cock, pulling himself off as he thrust his tongue into her cunt.

Liz suddenly swore and jerked at his hair a couple of times. “Stop,” she gasped. “Stop, stop.”

Tom froze, then pulled back reluctantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, but she was moving away, pulling herself up the bed.

“Liz?”

“Get your ass up here. I want you inside me.”

Tom didn’t need to be told twice. He slid up the bed and barely took the time to line himself up before shoving inside her.

She was so wet, positively dripping with his saliva and her own juices, that even his initial thrust went in smoothly. He paused there, holding himself over Liz and feeling her clutch his cock. “Hard or soft?”

Liz grabbed his hips, so tight that he could feel her nails digging into his skin. “Hard,” she ground out. “As hard as you fucking can.”

Tom grinned. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and went to work.

His world narrowed to his cock, barely aware of his ass clenching with his thrusts or the way his arms began to shake with the strain of holding himself over Liz. All there was was wet heat and slick friction, and the intoxicating smell of Liz surrounding him.

Then Liz wrapped a leg over his hip and shoved one of his arms out from under him and he fell down on top of her. “ _Harder_ ,” she growled, using her legs to pull him even closer.

Tom reached out to grab the headboard and used the additional leverage to ram himself into her body, slamming so hard with each thrust that he must’ve been causing bruises. Liz didn’t seem to mind at all, just kept pulling him tighter and demanding that he thrust harder and suddenly it all came together in a sharp, shattering orgasm that damn near pulled his brain out of his dick.

Exhausted, he toppled over to lie down next to Liz. “I don’t think so,” she said. “You’re not done yet.” And with no further warning, she straddled his face, putting her cunt right down on his mouth.

It was hard to move from that position, but he ate her out as best he could. Liz helped out, rubbing her clit with her finger and rolling her hips to get the most out of his mouth until she suddenly stiffened and Tom felt a flutter against his tongue.

A second later, it was Liz’s turn to fall over onto the bed. Tom wiped the moisture from his mouth and turned his head. “Good?”

“Oh shut up,” Liz said, sounding too satisfied to be genuinely annoyed. “Smug isn’t a good look for you.”

“I’d believe you if you didn’t keep feeling up my abs.”

Liz actually looked surprised, like she hadn’t realized that she was stroking her fingers over his stomach. She didn’t stop, though, which just made Tom’s grin widen.

“How many more days did you say it’d take to get to San Lorenzo?”

“From here? At least six.”

Liz smiled and twisted onto her side, curling up close to Tom and resting her head on his shoulder. “Good. We’ve got some experimenting to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: according to screenshots from The Blacklist, "Moreau" is actually one of the names on the Fulcrum. For the barely-there crossover it was between Leverage and White Collar, and only one of those had a Moreau character who was still alive. (Also, rewatching The San Lorenzo Job was much more fun than any (or all!) of the Kate episodes on White Collar.)


	20. Storms

When Tom entered the cabin during his next break, he found Liz waiting for him with a predatory expression on her face.

He’d done some thinking while making his way over the water, however, and he quickly held up his hand. “We need to talk.”

Liz checked her forward motion. “About?”

“Condoms.”

A dizzying array of emotions flashed across Liz’s face, so fast that even Tom, with all his training, couldn’t catch them all. Anger was in the mix, along with disappointment. Her face settled on a blank mask. “How many?”

“How many... condoms?”

Liz narrowed her eyes, her anger seeping through. “How many women did you have sex with?”

“None,” Tom said quickly. “Not since we separated.”

“We were divorced,” Liz said, but her stance relaxed. “You wouldn’t have been doing anything wrong.”

“I wasn’t interested in other women,” Tom said honestly. “And even if I was, I didn’t have much chance to meet anyone.”

Liz eyed him for a few seconds before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Then why do we need condoms? I still have my IUD.”

Tom took a deep breath. “Because I came in contact with a lot of blood.”

“From hurting people?”

“It was part of the job. And, besides that, I was hurt, more than once.” He touched the top of his thigh instinctively. That knife definitely hadn’t been sterile.

Liz nodded slowly. “When did you last get tested?”

Tom winced. “Before the boat.”

There was an awkward moment as they remembered the conditions on Liz’s boat. “Okay,” Liz said finally. “We’ll use condoms.”

Tom nodded, relieved.

“And you’ll get tested in San Lorenzo.”

“Liz—”

“No protests. It’s not about sex. If you’re infected with something, we need to know.”

If was infected with something, he’d probably already transmitted it to Liz. Feeling like shit, Tom just nodded.

Liz smiled back tightly. “And that pretty much killed the mood.”

“Yeah.” Tom sighed. “You hungry? I could make lunch.”

“Sure,” Liz said unenthusiastically. She hadn’t had much interest in food over the last few days.

Tom was in the middle of making chicken marsala when the door to the cabin banged open. “Lizzie, Tom, you need to come up on deck.”

Tom glanced at Liz, then hurried up the stairs, hearing her following close behind.

On deck, they found that the blue skies of just a couple of hours before had been replaced with ominous dark clouds. “Do either of you know anything about piloting a boat in a storm?” Reddington asked.

Liz shook her head. Tom lifted a shoulder. “I tried to do some research online, but most of what I found wasn’t very useful. If we were in a dock, I’d know what to do. Out here, our only options are to anchor or to go as slow as possible to avoid colliding with anything.”

Reddington looked deeply unimpressed with this assessment, which Tom had to admit was fair. “Since we’ve intentionally been avoiding popular boating areas and being within site of the shoreline, I’m assuming that anchoring would be our best bet.”

“Unless the weather gets bad enough to rip the anchor off.”

Reddington closed his eyes and took a studied breath. “In that case, perhaps slowing down is our best option.”

“I think we should start piloting in pairs,” Liz said. “That way someone can keep a lookout and if the weather gets really bad, they can help.”

Tom glanced uneasily at Reddington, trying to imagine being in his company full-time for the near future. Liz rolled her eyes. “Obviously this only works if I help out.”

The _jackass_ was implied.

“You’re too visible on the bridge,” Reddington said immediately.

Tom, eyeing the expression on Liz’s face, kept his mouth shut.

Liz lifted an eyebrow. “For a man who spent a decade on the FBI’s Most Wanted list without getting caught, you’re giving the Coast Guard a lot of credit.”

“I stayed free thanks to an abundance of caution.”

Liz snorted. “You? Caution? Since I’ve been your handler, you’ve surrendered yourself to a gunman– more than once! – you confronted a serial killer who turns people into _soup_ —”

“To be fair, the FBI was right behind me,” Reddington murmured.

“—and don’t get me started on the time you intentionally let yourself be imprisoned at a CIA black site _in the middle of the ocean_.”

Reddington sighed. “Lizzie, you have to understand – all of that was after I met you.”

There was an awkward silence on the bridge.

Tom decided to be the one to break it. “So what you’re saying is, you’re blaming Liz.”

If looks could kill, Reddington’s glare would have turned Tom into a puddle.

Tom returned the look with his most obnoxious smirk.

Liz let out an explosive sigh. “Okay, you two need to stop this, because I’m one snotty comment away from killing you both in your sleep.”

Tom schooled his expression back into one of angelic innocence.

Reddington just rolled his eyes. “We’re getting distracted. Lizzie, you can’t stay on the bridge. It’s not safe.”

“I disagree,” Tom said, and was rewarded with a grateful glance from Liz. “Yeah, it’s a risk to have her up top, but it’s not like this is an open air bridge. As long as someone’s keeping a lookout, she’ll be able to get below decks before anyone can get close enough to see two people through the bridge’s windows.”

Judging by the look on his face, Reddington’s blood pressure was reaching unprecedented heights. Liz must’ve agreed, because her voice was gentle when she said, “I appreciate you wanting to keep me safe. Once the bad weather has passed, I’ll stay below decks again. But until then, we need two people on deck or else we risk the boat going down and us all drowning.”

Reddington stared at her for a few seconds. Liz stared back. Reddington broke first, closing his eyes and nodding. “Only until the storm is over.”

Liz nodded in agreement. Tom was going to suggest heading back downstairs to finish cooking when Reddington added, “Since we’re all here, we should make plans for San Lorenzo.”

Tom perked up at that. With Liz perpetually below decks and either him or Reddington on the bridge at all times, they’d had to postpone their planning. “Have you ever been to San Lorenzo before?”

Reddington laughed. “Of course! It’s a beautiful country with very understanding banking laws and no extradition. I own a villa on the coast.”

Tom glanced at Liz, who looked torn between being impressed and being appalled. Tom mostly just felt jealous. He had a decent amount of money, but not enough to buy international property.

“That’ll make things easier,” Liz finally said. “So we set up base at your villa and, what... kill Moreau?”

Reddington eyed her for a second, looking thoughtful. “If that was the plan, would you have a problem with it?”

That was a damn good question. Tom looked over at Liz, curious.

Liz bit her lip before asking, “How many people has Moreau killed?”

“Dozens,” Reddington said immediately. “If not more.”

“And he funds the Cabal?”

“Exclusively.”

“Does he ever leave the island?”

“Never. Not since he began working for the Cabal full time.”

“Can the Cabal be brought down without taking this man out?”

Reddington shook his head. “As long as the resources exist, someone will find a use for them.”

Liz glanced at Tom. He did his best to look supportive. She turned back to Reddington. “All right.”

“All right?” Reddington asked, doing a shitty job of hiding his triumph.

“All right,” she repeated. “He can’t be arrested, and he can’t be allowed to continue to fund the Cabal. I’m assuming that if it was possible to undermine him some other way, you would have told us?”

“His connections are ironclad and his resources are unassailable,” Reddington confirmed.

“Then we have to take him out.”

Tom felt a surge in his groin. He’d always responded to the little glimpses he’d seen of Liz’s ruthless side, but he’d never imagined that she’d embrace it so fully. The idea of her bringing that ruthlessness into bed...

He had to stifle a moan.

“Tom?”

He dragged his attention back to Liz, who was looking at him in concern. “Yeah. I agree, he has to go.”

Liz didn’t look particularly mollified by that, but she turned back to Reddington. “What’s the plan?”

Reddington looked suspiciously blank-faced. When he spoke, he was scrupulously on topic. “Damien Moreau has a gated villa about ten miles from my own. It’s heavily protected with extensive electronic security and, last I heard, at least a dozen mercenaries patrolling at any given moment.”

Tom winced. The three of them might be able to take out a dozen men if they had prior notice and home field advantage, but there was no way they’d be able to take down that many people on enemy territory, at least not without someone noticing and raising the alarm.

Liz looked equally grim. “I don’t suppose you have a man on the inside?”

“Alas, no.”

Liz turned to Tom. “How long would it take to infiltrate a place like that?”

Tom thought about it. “Have to go in as a guard; a man like Moreau would be suspicious of anyone higher up disappearing. Probably have a few extra guards, though, so it would take a while to get onto the roster, and that’s only if we can find a way to thin the ranks without raising suspicion.”

Reddington cut him off. “There’s another way.”

Of course there was. And, of course, Reddington couldn’t have just _told_ them this. Not without stringing them along first.

“What other way?” Liz asked with forced patience.

Reddington smiled. “Moreau has a weakness for beautiful women.”

“No,” Tom said instantly.

“Keep talking,” Liz said, her body language turning away from Tom.

Tom gritted his teeth as Reddington continued, “He has a harem of women at his villa, but what he really likes is a challenge.”

“ _No_.”

Reddington didn’t even stop this time. “Strong women, married women, powerful women. The less interested they are in him, the more he wants to conquer them.”

“ _Liz..._ ”

She rolled her eyes and cut him off. “Tom, if you hate it so much, _Reddington_ can play my husband.”

Tom stared at her, too horrified to speak.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Moreau knows my face,” Reddington said. “However, if Tom doesn’t want to participate, I’m sure we can come up with an adequate cover. Particularly if you’re seen pulling the yacht into the marina.”

“You’re _not_ doing this alone,” Tom told Liz, giving up on his completely rational arguments as to why she shouldn’t do it at all before Reddington talked her into a suicide mission.

“Good,” she said brightly. “That’s settled. We’ll work out the details later, when the storm dies down.”

Tom wanted to protest, but the wind had kicked up dramatically as they’d talked, and the waves were getting high enough that attention was going to have to be paid to navigation. “Maybe I should stay up here,” he said as a streak of lightning lit the sky.

“I think you need to clean up the kitchen,” Liz suggested.

Tom sighed. Married or not, some things never changed.

The next few hours were awful. Tom put away the half-cooked chicken marsala and made sandwiches instead, except that he and Liz were too seasick to eat and Reddington refused anything other than a steady supply of coffee. Irritatingly, they discovered that Reddington had a gift for finding the easiest way through waves that made kept the boat at a steady roll, as opposed to Tom and Liz who crashed up and down like they were testing the strength of the hull. Since neither one was especially confident in the strength of the hull, Reddington ended up with permanent piloting duties for the length of the storm.

Because Liz didn’t trust Tom and Reddington alone together without supervision – and also, Tom suspected, because she didn’t want to go below decks until she absolutely had to – Liz announced her intention to stay on lookout duty for the whole storm. Tom did what he could to keep them hydrated and to give them at least the option of food, but that didn’t take up nearly enough time and his attempts at a modified version of Christof Mannheim’s workout routine ended in uncomfortable bruising thanks to the storm-driven waves.

Finally he gave up and crawled into the bed where he and Liz had fucked. He didn’t particularly like the idea of her up on deck without him, but they had enough fluids on the bridge to drown a horse and there wasn’t anything else Tom could do. Besides, if all three of them were exhausted once the storm was over, there wouldn’t be anyone left to pilot the boat.

He’d thought sleep would be hard to come by, but surrounded by Liz’s scent he slid into unconsciousness with ease.


	21. Understanding

“Spread your legs.”

Tom swallowed around a tight throat and obeyed. His hands were already pressed flat against the headboard with strict instructions not to move them.

As Liz stood over him, fully dressed, running her eyes up and down his naked body, Tom felt an abrupt moment of disconnect. Was this really happening, or was he just in the middle of an especially vivid dream? He could feel every wrinkle in the sheet under him and the air – humid and thick – pressed down on his skin in a way that never happened in his dreams, but...

But Liz was still staring at him and giving him commands and nothing like this had ever happened between them before.

“I can’t believe how much you’re getting off on this,” she said.

Tom looked down his body at his cock, which was blood red and leaking heavily. Liz hadn’t even touched him. Shit. If she even _breathed_ on him at this point, he was going to come.

She didn’t breathe on him, though, just gave him another order. “Lift up your knees and put your feet flat on the bed.”

He obeyed, but his knees pulled together as he did so and Liz snapped, “Did I tell you you could close your legs?”

His cock jumped and he had to bite back a moan as he spread his legs as wide as he could. He could feel his balls tighten against his body as air brushed against his asshole.

Liz moved around to the foot of the bed and crossed her arms as she inspected every inch of him.

Tom was on the verge of whimpering. He’d never been stripped this bare before. Even when he’d been married to Liz, she’d never _scrutinized_ him like this.

“I did some exploring while Reddington was sleeping,” she said out of the blue.

Tom frowned, wondering if he’d missed something. He didn’t say anything, though. It just seemed easier not to speak. Not without Liz’s permission.

Liz reached into her pocket and pulled out a small anal plug. “I’m guessing this wasn’t meant for me.”

He swallowed and slowly shook his head.

Liz smiled. It was dirty and sultry and supremely satisfied. “I never guessed you for someone who liked getting fucked in the ass.”

Christ, the images those words brought up. Flashes of fantasies blended with the unexpected reality of Liz standing over him with the garish purple plug in hand and he suddenly remembered one of his most vivid dreams of being bent over a large wooden desk as Liz fucked into him so hard that he could feel bruises coming up on his hips.

Tom arched up off the bed, and came.

When he came back to himself, he found Liz staring at him, a calculating expression on her face. He winced. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be.” Liz put the plug back in her pocket and sat down on the edge of the bed. “We need to talk.”

Shit. That phrase never led to something good. “Could I do something for you first?” he asked hopefully. Liz often went right to sleep after a really good orgasm, and Tom could make it very, very good for her.

Liz just shook her head and reached over to grab the robe that Tom had tossed onto the built-in couch. She passed it over and he sat up to pull it on.

When the robe was mostly in place, he pushed himself up so he could sit back against the headboard. He wasn’t the one who’d started this conversation, though, so he waited patiently for Liz to say whatever she needed to say.

It was another few seconds before she took a deep breath and blurted out, “Are you gay?”

All of the tension flooded out of Tom in a burst. Unfortunately, it came out as a burst of laughter.

Liz lifted an eyebrow, looking a little offended. “Is that a no?”

Tom coughed, still getting the laughter under control. “What makes you think that?”

“Because you had an orgasm at the very mention of anal sex?”

Tom smiled at the memory; he could still feel a bit of the afterglow, despite the talk. “It wasn’t just the talk of anal sex. And I don’t think an interest in anal sex makes me gay, it just means I have a kink.”

“Yes, but... from what I know of the Major, he trained you for this line of work since you were a boy. If all you ever knew was seducing women, how do you know that you don’t like men?”

“Because the Major didn’t just have me seducing women,” Tom said dryly. “A man sleeping with a teenage boy is worth a hell of a lot more in blackmail than a woman sleeping with a teenage boy. That was even more true back when I was a kid.”

“He made you have sex with men even though you weren’t gay?” Liz frowned, which Tom thought was ridiculous considering what she knew about his past.

“Why not? It’s not like I was really attracted to most of the women he assigned me to. Honestly, men could sometimes be easier, because I didn’t need to get an erection to suck someone else’s cock.”

Liz flinched. “That sounds like...”

“Prostitution?” Tom asked. He settled back against the headboard. This had the makings of a really long conversation. “You could argue that. Sex was usually part of my assignments and I didn’t work for free.”

“And outside your assignments?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When you aren’t working, what do you like?”

Tom looked at her, feeling a bit helpless. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m figuring it out, but...”

“Oh,” Liz breathed. “Oh, Tom. Don’t tell me... That time on your boat. Was that the first time...”

“That I had sex without getting paid for it? Yes.”

Liz’s eyes welled up, which was confusing. 

“Liz?” Tom said hesitantly.

“After we’re done with the Cabal, we’re going to find the Major,” she said.

“Okay?”

“And we are going to fucking kill him.”

“Okay,” Tom said again. It wasn’t like he was going to protest; the Major had a contract out on Tom’s life. Still, he wasn’t sure what the big deal was. It wasn’t as if Tom’s life had been lacking in sex. What did it matter if the sex came when he was on assignments?

Liz sniffed. “When was the last time you had to have sex with a man?”

“A while ago. As I got older, the men who were interested in me wanted to see me being interested back, which I couldn’t manage once the clothes came off. Plus, homosexuality stopped being such a big deal, and I got old enough that I couldn’t blackmail anyone because of my age. At that point, I switched over to longer assignments.”

“Longer assignments?”

Tom felt himself flushing. “Boyfriend. Fiance.”

“Husband,” Liz whispered.

He nodded. “Only for you, though. None of my other assignments ever went as long as yours.”

“And now? Is this still an assignment to you?”

Tom snorted. “Of course not.”

She didn’t look convinced, so he added, “Liz, I gave up my job for you. The only assignments I’ll ever have now are the ones you give me.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Tom realized that he’d just let slip more than he’d really meant to. “Are you telling me you think of me as your handler?”

Not much point in denying it now. “Yes.”

Liz opened her mouth, then closed it again. She stared at him intently for several seconds before asking, “How much control did you have over the assignments you took?”

That... wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “Um, enough? I guess? I mean, my handler’s job was to find work for me. Turning down assignments would’ve just been turning down work.”

“So you never said no? Never fought over an assignment?”

“The only assignment we ever fought over was the Christof Mannheim job.”

Liz looked expectant.

Tom shrugged and added, “It required permanent physical body changes that could have affected future assignments.”

“You mean the tattoos.” Liz’s eyes drifted down to Tom’s neck, where a misshapen scar was the only sign of the SS tattoo.

Tom just nodded.

“Why did you take the job if it was going to mess up your... future assignments? Why not just say no?”

Tom instantly shook his head. “You don’t understand. We didn’t fight because I didn’t want the job, we fought because the Major didn’t want me to take the job. It would’ve made it a lot harder for him to find me work.”

“Oh.” Liz sat back, looking a little stunned. “And why did you want the job so much?”

“Because it got me out of the States, Liz,” Tom said softly. “It got me away from you. The way I felt about you was so fucking confusing that I just needed to get as far away as possible.”

He could see the way her breath caught in her throat. “Tom?” she whispered. “Have you ever been in love before?”

Tom found his own breathing getting a little uneven. “No,” he whispered back. “I wasn’t even sure that’s what it was. Not at first. Not for a long time.”

They stared at each other for a second before Liz leaned in and captured Tom’s mouth in a kiss.

Thrilled that the conversation was over, Tom opened his mouth to let Liz take what she needed. He wasn’t sure if he was up for round two yet, but he could definitely think of a few ways to make the wait worth her while.

Except that Liz pulled back before Tom could put any of those ideas in motion.

“I have some thoughts about your kink.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really, Liz? Now? Can’t it wait?”

“I’m sorry, did I give you the impression that you have a say when it comes to sex?” Liz asked, cocking her head.

A wave of arousal went through Tom. His dick wasn’t up to doing anything with that arousal, not yet, but his breath got a little more ragged.

“Amazing,” Liz murmured. “It’s incredibly consistent.”

Tom managed a smile back, but kept his mouth shut and tried to convey his eagerness in continuing through his eyes.

Unfortunately, Liz didn’t seem particularly interested in what he was offering, because she started talking again in her normal voice. “When I was at Quantico, I took a class on alternative sexual practices.”

Deciding that they were back in the no-sex zone, Tom sighed and dragged his attention back to the conversation at hand. “Kink 101?”

“You heard about it?” Liz asked, sounding both amused and surprised.

“I know you thought you were doing a great job hiding all of your training at Quantico from me, but you weren’t really working at spycraft level.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know you were a spy,” she sniped back.

That was fair, if entirely beside the point. “So what’d you learn in Kink 101?”

Her eyes softened as she answered, “That, despite what the mainstream world might think, in relationships that deal with dominance and submission, the sub is the one with the real power. He’s the one who has the power to stop the scene. And, really, the scene is all about him. The dom comes up with the scene and gives the orders. All the sub has to do is obey and enjoy.”

Tom had to admit, that sounded like paradise.

“Have you ever had a relationship where you could just lie back and enjoy?” Liz asked quietly. “Or has your entire sexual history been about satisfying others?”

Tom didn’t bother answering that. Obviously one of the key aspects of his assignments was keeping his marks happy in bed.

“I thought so,” Liz murmured. She reached up and ran her fingers over Tom’s cheek. He closed his eyes and tilted his face into the touch.

Liz sat back with a sigh, and Tom opened his eyes. “That’s going to change,” she said, and it sounded like a promise. 

Then she reached into her pocket and Tom swallowed hard as she pulled out the plug.

“Let’s start with this.”


	22. Negotiations

“It’s funny,” Liz said as she cut into the chicken marsala that Tom finally got around to cooking, “I always thought you had amazing stamina in bed.”

Tom shifted in his chair, too distracted by the rigid protrusion in his ass to really be able to focus on his food, and not at all in the mood to _discuss_ sex when they could be _having_ sex. “I thought you liked my stamina.”

“Oh, I did.” She smirked. “I’m only human. But thinking back, I’m starting to think you spent so much time worrying about me that you forgot about yourself.” She put down her fork. “All those times you went down on me; did you even come after?”

“Sometimes,” Tom said defensively.

“You mean the times when I didn’t go right to sleep?” Liz asked dryly.

There wasn’t really a good way to answer that, so Tom shoved a forkful of food into his mouth and tried to ignore the stretch in his ass.

Liz’s smile at his silence was downright evil. “Well, you aren’t having trouble coming now. In fact, you seem to be on a hair trigger.”

Tom felt his cheeks burning. He’d never had a complaint before. Never.

“I’d say I don’t mind, but I’m not a saint. So, new rule: you don’t come until I do.”

Oh shit. Tom’s entire body tensed in anticipation at Liz’s words. Unfortunately that meant his asshole clenched around the plug and he couldn’t hold back a groan.

“Thought you’d like that,” Liz said smugly. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you some help at first. Maybe I’ll use some of the supplies you bought in Miami.”

Christ. Much more of this and Tom would find himself talked to climax. _Again_. Especially when he thought about that supply run in Miami, where they’d stopped to refuel. Neither Reddington nor Liz could show their face in the United States, but they’d needed fuel and food and, if they were going to run the kind of con in San Lorenzo that Reddington had suggested, Liz needed a whole new wardrobe. As the person least wanted by the FBI on the boat, Tom had been the one to venture out for supplies. Deciding that there was no way to tell how long it’d be before he had that kind of freedom again, he’d gone all out, which meant the anal plug got some friends.

_Lots_ of friends.

The glee on Liz’s face when she’d opened that bag had been terrifying and deeply, deeply arousing. The only thing that would’ve been better was if Reddington had been in the cabin with them, but the moment they’d left the land behind, he’d insisted on taking the wheel. That was all right, though; Tom had liberally distributed the discarded packaging into every trash can on the boat. Strategically placed button cameras would catch Reddington’s reaction for posterity.

Tom shifted again, this time savoring the burn. “Okay, no coming until you tell me to.” Which wasn’t exactly what she’d said, but Tom loved the idea of it, of being pushed to his limits. Hopefully Liz could take a hint. “Any other rules?”

“You need a safeword.”

With an effort, Tom managed not to roll his eyes. The idea was sweet and all, but... “Liz, don’t take this the wrong way, but... I have a really fucking high pain threshold. There’s no way you’re going to hit it.”

“Safewords aren’t just about pain.” Liz hesitated. “Do you find pain arousing?”

Tom thought about that. He’d experienced a lot of pain in his life, but never voluntarily and never in the bedroom. The idea of rough sex, of getting a little bruised, was appealing, but actual pain, intentionally inflicted? “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Do you?”

“Never tried it.” She smiled wryly. “You’re the most adventurous sex I’ve ever had.”

Considering how vanilla his sex with Liz had been, that was pretty sad. “I’m guessing that’s going on the experiment list?”

Liz nodded. “I’ll give it a try, at least. I’m up for trying most things, as long as it doesn’t involve blood, bodily waste, or permanent damage. What about you? Any hard lines?”

Tom thought about it, he really did, but he’d never been in a position to set his own limits about sex before, and now that he was on the spot, nothing was coming to mind. Finally he offered, “No bestiality?”

Liz choked on a bite of chicken. “Shit,” she said when she caught her breath. “Are you fucking with me, or did you seriously think that was on the table?”

“Mostly fucking with you,” Tom admitted. “Unless it really was on the table, in which case I’m being completely serious.”

“That still leaves a hell of a lot on the table.” Liz pushed her plate away. “Maybe we should do some more research.”

Alarm bells immediately went off in Tom’s head. “I don’t think we need to do that.” Liz looked dubious, so he quickly added, “I’m happy with ‘stop’ for a safeword. Unless you’ve got a rape fantasy?” He raised his hands as Liz’s eyes narrowed. “No judgment.”

She unbent slightly. “No rape fantasies.”

Tom shrugged. “Then if I don’t like something or I want you to stop, I’ll just tell you that.”

Liz looked thoughtful again. “I’d ask about you being gagged, but I noticed that you’ve been very quiet in bed lately.”

Tom swallowed, feeling his cheeks burning.

“Tom?”

Saying this out loud was... intimate. In some ways it felt more intimate than the plastic pressing into his ass. But Liz was looking at him expectantly. “I like the idea of not speaking unless I get permission.”

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but she just said, “Okay. In that case we probably won’t be using gags, so we won’t need a non-verbal signal to stop. If that changes, though, we’ll have to renegotiate. In fact, we’re probably going to have to renegotiate a lot, until we figure out what works.”

Frankly, Tom thought Liz was really overthinking the whole situation. He liked being told what to do. Liz _really_ liked telling him what to do. As long as they followed their instincts, this was going to go just fine.

It wasn’t his place to say that, though, and Liz wasn’t ready to listen. So he just nodded and finished his dinner, and tried not too think too much about what she might be planning for him once she took out the butt plug.

~~~

It turned out that what Liz wanted him to do after taking out the plug was to go topside and take his shift piloting the boat. At the time, Tom had thought about protesting. Once he was standing for a while, though, he had to admit she was right. His asshole felt raw and swollen and while it wasn’t unbearable, it was a pretty good indicator that he wasn’t ready for anything bigger. Not just yet.

Fantasies about what might be coming next carried him for nearly an hour before the urge to touch himself got too much and he had to change the direction of his thoughts. That ‘no coming before Liz’ rule was going to be a bitch to follow.

Unfortunately, piloting the boat didn’t take much concentration on a calm sea. Finally he decided to take the opportunity to review their plan for San Lorenzo again, looking for any holes they might’ve missed.

The first step, dropping off Reddington, was going to be a bit challenging. Swimming wasn’t a possibility for Reddington, not until he was much further along in recovery, but no smuggler’s boat was complete without an inflatable boat designed to bring black market goods to shore. The Zodiac was small but seaworthy, and the engine was surprisingly quiet. Reddington had assured them that, unless San Lorenzo’s coast guard had been greatly expanded since his last visit, he should have no problems getting ashore and to his villa.

If Reddington was wrong, then fuck it. He had the information and the contacts that were necessary to make this plan work, so if Reddington was out of the equation, Tom was going to take Liz and run. He had a lot of money and there were thousands of uninhabited islands around the world. Liz would just have to learn how to live with life in a tropical, if isolated, paradise.

Assuming all went well with Reddington, however, there was Tom and Liz’s little drama to consider. From what Tom had heard, Liz’s forays into undercover hadn’t gone especially well, but then, she’d always been playing other people. For this trip, all she had to do was play a version of herself that had grown up with money and a boatload of entitlement. Somehow, Tom didn’t think that was going to be too much of a stretch.

His role, on the other hand, was going to have to be more nuanced. He needed to be enough of a challenge to raise Moreau’s interest, but not so much of a challenge that it was unbelievable that Liz would show interest in Moreau.

The outline of a character like that was easy – submissive, relatively poor, with exceptional focus on maintaining the looks that would’ve attracted a woman like Liz – but the layers beneath that were complex. Trophy husbands weren’t nearly as common as trophy wives, and there was a reason for that beyond the general imbalance of wealth between the sexes. Society granted men much more latitude and acceptance when it came to paying for sex than it did for women, and overcoming that socially-ingrained revulsion to the idea for paying for sex in women required finesse. Finesse and a lot of feigned love.

Obviously it wasn’t going to be difficult to convince people he was in love with Liz. The greater challenge was going to be making the love look faked. And that didn’t even take into account the feelings a gigolo might have about himself, spurred by subconsciously accepted social expectations. 

Tom spent the next couple of hours sinking into character as he guided the boat over the waves. It wasn’t a character he’d played often, and never with someone he genuinely cared about. He found himself practicing expressions that he’d long since perfected, except that this time he added an edge of artificiality to them. An eye just a little too wide. A smirk instead of a smile. A gesture just a little too broad.

In some ways, it was exhausting. After all, he hadn’t done anything like this in years.

In other ways, it felt like coming home.


	23. Alone at Last

They let Reddington off about half a mile from shore, and Tom wrapped an arm around Liz as they watched the Zodiac skim over the shadowy water. The sky above them was just barely tinged with hints of the coming day, and the water was smooth as silk.

“How long until we can go ashore?” Liz asked quietly.

“Five, six hours minimum. Afternoon is best.”

“Really?” Liz asked, sounding legitimately curious. “Why?”

“Because trust fund brats that have their gigolos sail them around the ocean aren’t early risers. And more people will be on the beaches in the afternoon, which means a better chance that you’ll be seen by one of Moreau’s men. And...” Tom let a small leer leak through. “You’re going to look fucking spectacular in that red dress under the afternoon sun.”

Liz smiled. “So we’ve got some time to kill.”

“Well, we have to move a mile or two out so no one wonders why we’re hovering around out here. But that shouldn’t take us too long.”

“Okay,” Liz said. “You do that. When you’re done, put down the anchor, and come downstairs.”

Tom felt his eyebrows rise, a surge of interest running through his body. After that little experiment with the anal plug, Liz had put an end to their sexual experimentation, claiming that they’d have plenty of time to themselves on San Lorenzo and declaring that she needed to do more research. Maybe that research was paying off. “And what’ll we be doing then?”

“Come on down and find out.” Liz gave him a little smirk and then walked away.

Tom nearly ran to the bridge.

~~~

“Do you remember the rules?”

Tom sighed and shifted on the bed. The ropes at his wrist, which had seemed sexy when Liz tied them on, were starting to feel uncomfortable. “Killing the mood here, Liz.”

Liz crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll get it back. Rules?”

Tom sighed again, but dutifully recited, “No coming until you do. No speaking unless you tell me to, or if I need to tell you to stop. No suffering – if I’m not enjoying something, I use my safeword.”

“I’m serious about that, Tom.” Her lips quirked. “Because I’m about to torture you.”

Tom wasn’t sure what to make of the fission of anticipation that went through him at the word “torture”. On the one hand, he’d been tortured before, and there hadn’t been anything even remotely sexy about the experience. On the other hand, he trusted Liz and she wasn’t carrying a knife, at least not one visible through her tank top and yoga pants.

In the end, he just nodded and watched carefully for her reaction.

Liz took a deep breath and smiled back. “Okay.” She slid one finger under the edge of her yoga pants and came up with a condom.

This time the fission Tom felt was entirely pleasant. Without having to be told, he widened his legs, giving Liz plenty of room to kneel on the bed if she wanted to while she rolled on the condom. This was going to be _amazing_.

Liz raised an eyebrow at him, but took him up on the silent offer, sitting down between his spread knees. She tore open the condom and rolled it on efficiently before wrapping a hand around him and pumping up and down a couple of times to make sure the condom was firmly in place. Tom endured the sensation, knowing it was just the first step to something even better...

...except Liz kept pumping her hand. It felt good, though, even through the condom, but that was part of the problem. Rule one was ‘no coming before Liz’.

She hadn’t been kidding. This was torture.

Tom closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lip, trying to ignore the sensation of Liz’s tiny hand stripping his cock, but each stroke sent a bolt of sensation through his body and the pressure built and built and built and he felt his stomach muscles tensing in preparation for...

Liz’s hand suddenly clenched around the base of his cock, stopping his orgasm just before it started.

Tom gritted his teeth and let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

“You doing okay?” Liz asked.

Tom suddenly realized he was holding his breath and let it all out at once. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

“Good,” Liz said, and she began stroking again.

Time passed. Tom didn’t know how much time, too caught up in the cycle of building pleasure and crushing pressure. It continued until his eyes burned with tears and his wrists were raw from pulling against the ropes.

And then suddenly, it was over. Liz’s hand pulled away from Tom’s cock.

Tom opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Tremors were running up and down his body and he felt both intensely aroused and utterly exhausted. It took a moment for him to find the energy to lift his head to look at Liz.

She was wiping her hand on the sheets, her eyes looking everywhere but at Tom. “So, we’re done.”

Panic ripped through Tom. “What?”

“We’re done. You’re not necessarily going to get to come every time, you know.”

Relief washed over the panic. Not that it was pleasant having Liz be a literal cock tease, but that was the game they were playing. He could even see how it was a logical start after taking a break for several days.

Except Liz still wasn’t looking at him. And her nipples weren’t peaked, which meant she wasn’t aroused.

“Stop. Or red light, or whatever we’re using.”

Liz flinched, but immediately went into motion, moving up the bed to untie Tom’s hands. She managed the entire thing without touching Tom once, which just made him even more suspicious. “Are you all right?” she asked as soon as he was untied.

Tom shifted up until he was sitting back against the headboard and raised his arm. Some of his tension eased as Liz immediately tucked up against his side.

“Sorry,” she said. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Tom said instantly, his mind racing as he tried to figure out where this was coming from. Liz had been enthusiastic about helping Tom explore this kink, so excited that at one point he’d expected near constant sex on the trip to San Lorenzo. When Liz had put off the sex until Reddintgon was off the boat, Tom had accepted her explanation without questioning it, but looking back it was a little suspect. They’d had plenty of privacy below decks and a lot of time to burn. And Liz’s boredom during those days had been palpable; at one point they’d been reduced to playing gin rummy. Liz had spent most of the game pacing between turns.

So when had things changed? Looking back, Tom could remember lying on bed with Liz inspecting him, he could remember coming inside of her and then eating his own come out of her cunt, he could remember the discussion of anal plugs and condoms...

Oh.

“Liz, it’s okay to be afraid.”

She stiffened.

“You think I’m not afraid?” he added. There were moments when Tom woke up from dreams of bloody eagle wings and was fucking _terrified_ that he’d given something to Liz, something deadly. If he did, he was going to track those fucking Nazi assholes down and make them eat their own dicks before cutting their throats. “The important thing is that we stick together.”

“Are you including Reddington in that “we”?” Liz asked wryly.

Tom didn’t even hesitate. “If he’s helping to keep you safe, then yes.”

The wry quirk of Liz’s lips eased into a genuine smile. “You know, he’s the reason we’re together.”

Tom stifled a groan. “Please don’t remind me.”

They sat there for a while as Tom’s cock softened. Liz sighed. “I’m not afraid. Not really.”

Tom hugged her a little tighter. “Okay.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know.”

“But you don’t believe me.”

It was Tom’s turn to sigh. “I know you, Liz. When most people get afraid, you get angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

Tom thought about the days of blue balls, followed by the sexual torture she’d just put him through, and made a dubious noise.

“Okay, fine, I’m a little angry.” She slid out from under his arm and twisted around so that she was facing him. “Why haven’t you gotten tested recently? I mean, if you had time to get rid of those tattoos, you had time to find a clinic.”

That was a fair question. Tom took time to think about his answer before he spoke. Unfortunately, he couldn’t come up with an answer that Liz would accept, so he told the truth. “What was the point of getting tested?”

Liz stared at him. “Explain.”

Tom sighed. “Liz, my life had gotten so shitty that I stopped eating and took a job as a neo-Nazi. Having someone stick a knife in my leg and threaten to pull my lungs out of my body while I was still breathing wasn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me in the last year. That time on your boat wasn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me in the last year.”

He took a deep breath and forced out the most painful part. “I never thought I’d ever get back something like this. I never thought I’d have another chance with you. So, what was the point of getting tested?”

Liz closed her eyes. “Tom.”

Tom cut her off. “Don’t. You don’t get to decide what’s important for me, Liz. You don’t get to question my decisions.”

“Not even when they affect me?”

“I’m getting tested. I’m on Reddington’s boat. I’m about to go undercover with you on a mission that I really don’t like. Don’t try to tell me I’m not giving you a say.”

Liz lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention letting me take over in bed.”

“To be fair, I think that one’s more for me than for you.”

“Maybe it is.” Liz’s voice was spiked with amusement, and Tom felt most of the tension bleed out of his body. “I left you hanging.”

Tom shrugged. “Rule one.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t seem fair.”

“Forget fair.” Tom reached out and pulled her back into the hug, thrilled when she went willingly. “If we’re going to do this thing, we should do it right.” He turned his head so he could nuzzle her hair. “And I trust you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Tom felt his lips curl up into a smile. “I do a lot of things I shouldn’t. It’s worked for me so far.”


	24. Getting Started

Tom had been right: Liz looked fucking amazing in that red dress. It was perfectly cut up front, showing off just the right amount of cleavage, with the skirt cut above the knee and flared, so that it rippled at the slightest movement. They hadn’t been as careful as they should’ve been while spending the morning on deck and Liz’s skin was lightly burned and glowing. Tom could barely take his eyes off her.

That was okay, though – Liz wasn’t bothering to hide how much she liked him in his suit. He’d forgone the lighter colored suits that were common in the Caribbean – they made him look too much like an elementary school teacher – and had opted for a lightweight black suit with a crisp white shirt with one too many buttons undone. It was casually rich and slightly trashy, perfect for a gigolo. The way that Liz kept staring at his shoulders and his ass justified all that time he spent in Miami finding clothing for the mission that made him look good.

The way that his shirt cuffs kept slipping to reveal glimpses of his abraded wrists – well, that was just a bonus.

He had to get his shit together when they got to shore, though. They weren’t playing a couple going on three years together, they were playing a wealthy woman and her kept man. Tom Keen, the man who married Liz, was proud of the fact that he wanted her and loved her with every fiber of his being. Tom Keen the gigolo liked Liz well enough, and was able to get hard for her, but he was resentful of needing her wealth even while smug about his ability to capture her attention. When he held out his hand to help Liz off the boat, he did it ostentatiously, with an overblown compliment. When he smiled at her, he stretched his lips too far and his eyes stayed cold.

As for Liz, she slipped into her role like she’d been born to it. She took the helping hand and stepped off the boat without sparing Tom a glance. When she looked over the sun-drenched mountains dotted with trees and expansive villas, her smile was condescending. She took off in the direction of the marina office without bothering to check that Tom was following.

Tom felt his chest swell with pride as he hurried after her, schooling his features into an expression of mild irritation.

Liz took care of the marina fees, tipping with a lavishness that would certainly start some rumors, though Tom made a mental note to pull her aside and give her a few suggestions. For one thing, wealthy people were often notoriously shitty tippers – money meant nothing to them, so they forgot that it could mean a lot to people who didn’t have cash to burn.

On the other hand, Reddington was funding this mission. It wouldn’t hurt for Liz to be one of those wealthy women who showered money everywhere.

At the marina, Liz ordered a limousine for the duration of their trip, which served the dual purpose of giving them transportation for the public parts of their mission and of raising their profile higher, which increased the likelihood of Moreau hearing about them.

Also, the limo driver ended up hauling their luggage, which Tom was very okay with. The driver bitched at first, but stopped when Liz handed him a roll of hundreds. After that, Tom was confident that the driver would be very happy to help them with anything they needed, up to and including hiding a dead body.

That could prove very useful.

Their next stop was the most expensive hotel on the island, where they checked in under the name of Elizabeth Mallory and guest. The penthouse was available, which was unfortunate: Tom would’ve loved to see Liz throwing an entitled rich bitch tantrum.

Once in the room, her shoulders turned slightly inward back to her usual posture, the brash body language of her cover melting away. Tom shook his head, simultaneously impressed and baffled. If she was this good at undercover, why did all of her assignments with Reddington end up with one of them at the business end of a gun?

Apparently oblivious to Tom’s thoughts, Liz went to the desk and pulled out a notepad and a pen. She scribbled for a second before pulling out the pad: _Bugged?_

Tom took the pad and wrote a note of his own. _Always assume that it is._

She took the pad. _Guess you’ll just have to trust me._

He was also going to have to burn the notepad, but didn’t bother writing that down. If Liz hadn’t yet figured out that housekeeping was often curious about the people in the penthouse, she would learn fast enough.

Besides, Liz was already walking away, heading in the direction of their luggage. She pulled out the smallest bag and dug into it, saying, “You’ve been very good today. I think it’s time for a treat.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Treat?”

Liz turned around from the bag, lube and anal plug in hand.

Heat shot through Tom’s body.

“Pull down your pants,” Liz said, a low growl in her voice. “Bend over the couch.”

Holy shit. Tom hoped someone _had_ bugged this room. Liz sounded like a bored socialite playing with a human toy. The edge of ruthlessness, of _Liz_ , that leaked through just made it hotter. If Moreau saw Liz like this, he’d be hooked in a heartbeat.

Tom should know. Liz had hooked him so hard he was never getting free.

His hands shaking with anticipation, Tom opened his pants and pushed them down. He leaned over to take off his shoes, but Liz cut him off. “No. Go over to the couch like that.”

The pants puddled around Tom’s feet acted like a makeshift hobble and he had to shuffle as he made his way to the couch, his half-hard cock swaying with the movement. He bent over the back of the ridiculously ornate couch, feeling Liz’s eyes on his ass like a brand.

“Spread yourself for me,” Liz said, her voice deep and husky.

Tom swallowed hard and reached back to grab his ass cheeks. He pulled them apart, feeling his face burning even as his cock hardened further.

“Fuck,” Liz breathed. “You look good like this.”

That was a little too honest for the role Liz was playing, but Tom was beyond caring. He opened his mouth, wanting to beg, then remembered rule two and snapped his mouth shut again.

Fortunately Liz was just as eager as Tom, and he felt her hands on his skin a moment later. Her fingers brushed over the curve of his ass and he started to let go of his cheeks but Liz’s hands shifted to his and held them in place. “I like you like this,” she said, moving her hands off slowly, as if she was checking to make sure he wasn’t going to try and move his hands away again. “Open. Vulnerable.”

She leaned over him and hissed in his ear, “ _Mine_.”

A sizzle went up Tom’s spine and he arched up helplessly. Liz let out a low, dirty laugh and Tom heard the hollow pop of a plastic cap being opened.

A second later, he felt a cold, slick, hard protrusion pushing its way into his ass.

He gasped. Last time they’d done this, Liz had used her fingers before the plug, opening him up a bit before putting in something larger. This time she wasn’t bothering with preliminaries, instead relying on the tapered shape of the plug to open him up as it went. The slide of plastic was excruciatingly slow and Tom let out a quiet sob as the muscle was stretched.

“Shh,” Liz crooned. “You’re doing so good. It’s just a little more, now. Just a few centimeters more.”

A few _centimeters_? Tom groaned and let his head sag down, painfully aware of the hard pressure of the couch’s wooden frame digging into his chest and the strain in his arms from holding them so long in an unusual position.

Just when he thought he was at his limit, that he was going to have to use that safeword after all, the rim of his asshole curved down over the suddenly smaller silicone and a moment later the flat end of the plug pressed up against his rectum.

“There,” Liz said, patting his ass gently. “All in.”

Tom slumped against the couch back, letting his hands slide down. This time Liz didn’t try to hold them in place. “You okay?” she murmured, soft enough that a bug would have to be in the couch itself to catch her words.

Tom swallowed against a dry throat. “It feels larger than last time.”

“I think that’s just the position. It’s the same one.” There was the soft shushing sound of cloth rubbing against cloth and then Liz’s hands were brushing against Tom’s ankles. A moment later, he felt his pants being pulled up.

With a superhuman effort, he forced himself upright, so caught up in the dual sensations of the plug in his ass and Liz’s hands on his legs that he barely noticed the weakness in his knees until he almost fell over.

“Whoa,” Liz said. Tom’s pants slithered down again as Liz’s hands grabbed his waist. “You aren’t going to do me much good if you’re unconscious.”

“Sorry.” Tom heard the slight slur in his voice without surprise. He felt a little drunk on all of the sensory input.

“Here, hold onto the couch.” Liz positioned Tom’s hands so that he was holding himself up. He glanced behind him to see her kneel down and reach for one of his shoes.

A couple minutes later, he was naked. “Come on, into the bedroom. You’ve got some work to do.”

Tom laughed under his breath and leaned a little bit on Liz as she helped him into the bedroom and onto the massive bed. “Hands behind your head,” she ordered. “Feet shoulder width apart.”

Hoping against hope that this wasn’t going to be another round of torture, Tom followed Liz’s orders. He was rewarded by the sight of Liz reaching under her dress and pulling off her panties.

Gorgeous red silk flowed like water over Liz’s legs as she knelt onto the bed and straddled Tom’s waist. She pulled a condom out of her bra and smoothly slid it over Tom’s cock. Tom gritted his teeth and forced his hips still.

“Good boy,” Liz murmured and Tom cried out as his fantasies and his present collided. Only a hasty grab on Liz’s part kept Tom from coming on the spot. 

“That was unexpected,” she said as she tightened her grip on Tom's cock until it was nearly painful.

It wasn’t a question so Tom just nodded, keeping his eyes screwed tight as he tried to get himself under control. The plug helped him; by focusing on the pressure and the twinge of pain in his ass, he was able to pull himself back from the brink.

“Okay now?” Liz asked as Tom relaxed back into the bed.

“Yeah,” Tom said. His voice was a little ragged.

“Another kink?”

Tom opened his mouth to snap back a retort, but at the last second remembered his role. If this room was bugged, he couldn’t risk his usual banter with Liz. 

A little shaken – he’d never come this close to slipping up while undercover, not even in orgasm or while being tortured – Tom injected a bit if smarm into his voice as he answered, “You know I love everything you do to me.”

Liz lifted her eyebrows, looking nonplussed for a moment before the penny dropped. Her lips tightened for a moment and Tom felt his heart sink as he realized she’d forgotten their roles. As well as he knew her, he had no idea how she’d react to the idea of his ability to maintain cover even in bed.

He should’ve had more faith in her; her uncertainty lasted less than a second before bored, jaded facade of the socialite slid into place. “You’re such a slut, aren’t you, Tom? No matter how much I do to you, you just keep crawling back for more.”

Tom had to hold down a flinch. That hit a little too close to home.

Some of his reaction must’ve gotten through, because the socialite mask slipped again and Liz looked concerned.

Tom shook his head. Admittedly, it probably wasn’t the best time to explore a kink as intense as power dynamics while taking on their first ever joint mission, much less an undercover mission without support or backup. It was too late to back out now, though. They were in the most expensive hotel room on an island frequented by members of the Cabal, an island that was the home of a man living under the thumb of the Cabal. If this room wasn’t bugged, Tom would get down on his knees and give Reddington the blowjob of his life.

Tom forced a smile. “Only for you, baby. Only for you.”

Liz didn’t look convinced, but after a moment she closed her eyes and the socialite mask slid back on again. “You know,” she said, as she opened her eyes again, a small smile on her face. “I have a whole bag of goodies like this one.”

Of course Tom knew; he’d bought everything in that bag. The reminder that he’d started this experiment, that Liz was doing this for him, helped him find his center again. His smile grew more real. “I can’t wait.”

Liz smiled back, a real smile, and Tom settled into the mattress, confident that Liz would take care of him.

She fucked him in that gorgeous red dress and sensation overloaded Tom with heat and silk as the satiny fabric slid maddeningly over his skin and the slick folks of her cunt rubbed his cock. The plug in his ass heightened the intensity of it all until his entire world was Liz: she surrounded him and covered him and was even inside of him. The only thing that could’ve made it more perfect would’ve been if they were touching skin to skin and Tom swore to himself that he’d find a doctor to test him as soon as possible.

It was amazing, the best sex that Tom had ever had, and the discomfort of the plug helped drag it out longer than Tom would’ve thought possible, giving him something to focus on every time he got too close to coming.

Liz’s breathing suddenly accelerated and Tom looked down to see that she’d slid a hand beneath the skirt. He gritted his teeth and tried to think of something unsexy, but he was too immersed in pleasure to focus on anything else and it was luck more than anything else that his orgasm started a half-second after Liz’s.

When he came down, Tom found that, as usually happened after a really good orgasm, Liz had dropped off to sleep. She was still wearing the dress – thoroughly ruined at this point – and Tom rubbed a corner of the skirt between his fingers before shifting away.

He found himself limping as he made his way to the bathroom – the plug had felt amazing during sex, but it was hellishly uncomfortable now and every step sparked a shot of pain when the plug rubbed up against his prostate.

In the bathroom, Tom took care of the condom before reaching back and easing the plug out. He whimpered as he did so, but the relief after it was out was almost as good as the sex had been.

Tom leaned against the sink for a moment, savoring the soreness, before digging out a washcloth. The resulting cleanup stung a bit, but really, it just a nice bite to the afterglow.

After cleaning up Liz, Tom tossed the washcloth on the floor and crawled into bed. After the day he’d had, a nap sounded like heaven.

~~~

They woke up to the light of a setting sun. “Ugh,” Liz said, sitting upright and jerking at the fabric of the dress before twisting to turn her back toward Tom. “Get me out of this.”

Tom sat up, feeling twinges in parts of his body that had never twinged before, and carefully unzipped Liz’s dress. It slid off her as she stood up and she left it lying on the floor as she headed to the bathroom.

Tom considered the dress and his own aches and pains. Then he rolled out of bed and followed Liz.

The noise of the shower allowed them to speak more openly than they could in other areas of the penthouse. Tom started with, “That was fucking amazing.”

Liz’s whole face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Seriously. Best sex I ever had.”

She looked incandescent. And smug. “High praise.”

“Now you’re just milking it.”

She giggled and leaned against Tom. He smiled quietly and held her as the steaming water washed over them.

Finally she pulled back. She still had a small smile, but her eyes were serious. “You think Moreau’s heard about me yet?”

“Yeah. Even if he didn’t have eyes on the marina – unlikely, if this is a frequent Cabal destination – I guarantee this room is bugged.”

“Do you think I caught his eye?”

Judging by the smirk Liz was sporting she knew the answer to that question, but Tom had no problem praising a job well done. “Definitely.” Tom let her enjoy that for a moment before adding, more seriously, “You ready for this?”

Liz considered that before answering, which Tom appreciated. “I should be fine. I mean, we just have to kill him, right?”

Was it only a few weeks ago that Tom had told Liz she wasn’t a killer? So much had happened since then that it was hard to remember what he’d been thinking. Liz would do what she had to do. She always had. Still... “There’s no point in killing him if we can’t get away clean.”

“That’s what Reddington’s poison is for. He said it’d make it look like a heart attack.”

Tom scowled at the reminder. “We still need a backup plan.”

“You’re my backup plan,” Liz said, running her hands over Tom’s stomach in a distracting way. She really liked those ab muscles. Now that they were back on solid land, he was going to have to start working out again.

Dragging his attention back to mess with Moreau, he reminded Liz, “I’m the _last_ resort. If I have to go in, our cover is blown.”

“Yeah, well, if I have to kill him with something other than poison, I think our cover’s blown anyway. If his death is ruled as anything other than natural causes, the local LEOs are going to assume that I’m involved.”

“What about an accident?”

“That’ll take a lot of planning,” Liz pointed out. “Especially since we don’t know the lay of the land.”

“I’ll plan it.” Tom quirked a smile. “It’ll give me something to do while you’re with Moreau.”

“You don’t think they’ll have eyes on you?”

“I’m just the boytoy, remember? No point in wasting the resources to watch over me. You will need to get me information, though. No point planning a water-skiing accident if he never goes out on the water.”

“Okay.” Liz’s hands wandered down and back, until her fingertips were brushing over the raw edges of his rectum. Tom hissed. “Are we done talking about Moreau?” she asked. “Because I wouldn’t mind going another round before dinner.”

“I’m game,” Tom answered, as if there was any possibility of saying anything else. “You’ll have to be a little less creative, though – I’m really sore right now.”

“How’d you feel about missionary?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s a step back?”

“I _think_ that my thighs are killing me,” Liz said. “And it’s your turn to do the work.”

Tom laughed and he reached for the soap. Suddenly missionary sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.


	25. Planning

They ate dinner at an exclusive restaurant on the water, the fish so fresh that Tom could taste the sea in every bite. He was having to work harder than he’d expected to maintain his role; after the sex and the nap and the shower and the second round of sex, he wanted nothing more than to sink into a state of utter contentment. 

Fortunately, Liz was playing her part like a pro. When Tom took longer than two seconds to order, she jumped in and ordered him the same thing she was eating. She interrupted his speech frequently, clearly demonstrating to observers which of them had the power. When the check came, she snatched it from the waiter, shooting him a disgruntled look because the waiter had started to hand the check to Tom.

At the same time, the food she ordered was more to Tom's taste than hers, and her interruptions were greatly softened by the way that Liz kept running her foot along his ankle, just above the edge of his shoe. By the time dinner was over, Tom’s blood was singing and he was counting down the seconds to them getting back to their room.

Of course, of _course_ , this was when they were approached by a man who was tanned and attractive, in a smarmy sort of way. Tom wasn’t at all surprised when the man “accidentally” bumped into Liz. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said, looking deep into Liz’s eyes.

Tom rolled his own eyes. That was, frankly, a pathetic first move. Tom could’ve done better while drunk, high, _and_ half-asleep.

Judging from Liz’s expression, she was equally unimpressed. Fortunately, that worked well for their cover, so when she snapped her fingers and walked past Moreau, Tom followed without comment.

“Snapping, really?” he asked as they were walking to the limo.

“Too much?”

Tom thought about it. “Actually, it was just about right.”

Liz smirked, but it didn’t last long. “God, Moreau is a smarmy asshole, isn’t he?”

“Hard to believe anyone falls for that move,” Tom agreed. “But I’m willing to bet he’s already got the limo bugged, so we should set up the next move there.”

“This is so creepy,” Liz muttered under her breath, but as the slid into the limo, she obligingly said out loud, “Jealousy isn’t attractive, you know.”

Not a bad tack. “I think I have a right to be jealous. You were staring right at him.”

“Because he ran into me!”

“You could’ve gotten out of his way.”

“You know what, I’m done talking about this,” Liz snapped. “If you’re so unhappy, you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

Damn it, that was a bit too fast. Tom put a touch of desperation into his voice as he answered, “Don’t be like that, baby. You know I’m just jealous because I love you.”

“You love me, but you don’t trust me?”

“I do trust you, Liz. It’s him I don’t trust.”

“You trust me?” Liz smiled as they pulled up to the hotel. It was a nasty smile, full of dark promise. “I guess you’ll just have to prove it.”

Oh, shit. That sounded _very_ promising, even if he was still aching enough from earlier to make sitting uncomfortable. He did trust, Liz, though, enough so that he followed her into the hotel without question and without fear.

Unfortunately, on the way through the lobby they were flagged down by the concierge, who handed Liz a slip of paper. She read it and sighed. “Looks like Nick is here.”

It took Tom a second to make the connection. “Nick as in Nick’s Pizza?”

“He’s waiting in the stairwell.”

Tom sighed in turn and followed Liz to the northeast stairwell, where they found Reddington waiting for them on the second floor landing. “I trust you had a productive outing?” Reddington said, sounding pretty smarmy himself.

“Very,” Liz answered. “Moreau made contact.”

“What about you?” Tom asked. “Were you productive?”

Reddington reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a vial with a clear liquid inside. He held it up, but his expression wasn’t nearly smug enough for the contents of the vial to be what he’d promised them.

“What went wrong?” Tom sighed.

Liz looked confused. Reddington looked put-upon. “Nothing went wrong! This is a very effective vial of... medicine.”

“But—“ Liz asked leadingly, clearly following Tom’s lead. Tom felt a swell of pleasure at the thought.

“But it’s not the medicine I was going to bring,” Reddington admitted reluctantly. “It appears that formulation is more fragile than promised.”

“And you can’t get anymore of that one without accessing your network,” Liz said.

Reddington bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“So what’s the problem with this ‘medicine’?” Tom asked.

Reddington sighed. “It works considerably faster than the alternative. Almost immediately, in fact.”

Tom closed his eyes. Shit. “The whole point of using the medicine was to have us in and out without anyone knowing that we’d used it!”

“Tom,” Liz said. Tom turned away from them both and braced his arms on the railing. Behind him, Liz asked, “What are the effects? Is it something that could look natural?”

“Absolutely,” Reddington said immediately. There was a rustle of clothing and Tom turned around to see that Reddington had moved in closer. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible; no one but the three of him could hear the words. “If anyone checks, it’ll look like a heart attack.”

“Except for the remarkably coincidental timing,” Tom whispered poisonously. “How is Liz supposed to get out of the house?”

“I was thinking that a distraction might be useful,” Reddington said. “Between the two of us, we should be able to come up with something very effective.”

Tom flinched at the phrase “between the two of us”. It didn’t help that Liz’s eyes immediately lit up with humor. He wasn’t about to let Liz go up against Moreau with just _Reddington_ for backup, though, so he grudgingly admitted, “I have some ideas.”

“So do I,” Reddington exclaimed affably, making Tom want to punch him in the face. “Let’s go to my room to discuss.”

“You have a room?” Liz asked, her humor gone. “Then why are we talking in a stairwell?”

“Because it wouldn’t do for the front desk to connect you with my room number,” Reddington answered smoothly.

“And because we can’t yell at you in the stairwell,” Tom added.

“There is that. Come on, then. I’m on the fourth floor.”

~~~

They spent most of the night planning. The problem was that with the sheer number of guards Moreau had active at any given point – not to mention the number of off-duty guards who were living on Moreau’s estate – it had to be assumed that they were all trained to split up in the event of an attack. That meant that, no matter how big the distraction, some men would be heading in Moreau’s direction, which would defeat the whole purpose.

It was nearly two in the morning when Liz said, “What if he died in his sleep?”

“No,” Tom said instantly.

“I agree with Tom,” Reddington said, and if Tom wasn’t about to have a heart attack over Liz’s terrible idea, he’d be thinking about snowballs in hell.

Liz rolled her eyes. “I’m not suggesting that I have sex with him. I’m just saying that I let him _think_ I’m going to have sex with him, and then poison his nightcap. After a couple of hours I can just walk out and tell the guards he’s sleeping.”

“And you don’t have any problems with sitting in a room with a dead guy for two hours?” Tom asked dubiously, ignoring the proud look on Reddington’s face.

“It’s better than having sex with him and then poisoning him,” Liz answered, which was fair, though even the thought of Liz having sex with that slimy asshole made Tom want to vomit.

Some of that thought must’ve leaked through into his expression, because Liz snapped, “Oh, don’t look like that. It’s just sex.” Immediately she looked contrite. “Shit. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Tom shook his head, though he felt a little gut-punched, and turned to Reddington. “Do you think Moreau is likely to have alcohol in his bedroom?”

Reddington snorted. “Undoubtedly. Probably a good supply of rohypnol and GHB as well.”

Tom spun back to Liz. “Don’t worry,” she said immediately. “I’ll be the one fixing the drinks.”

Damn it, there went the last of Tom’s objections. Well, objections that Liz would think were reasonable. “I’ll be just outside the gate,” he said firmly. “And you’ll carry communications.”

“I’ll have my phone,” Liz pointed out.

“And you’ll carry an ear piece, for backup,” Reddington said firmly. “I’ll be on the other side of the estate from Tom, to provide a distraction if needed.”

“Only if you really need to,” Liz said. “If the guards discover he’s dead before the morning, our cover is blown.”

“I’m not putting much faith in the cover even if they don’t discover him until morning,” Tom said grimly. “We should plan to leave during the night. I doubt Moreau’s guards are loyal enough to chase us over the ocean.”

“And with the Cabal in pieces, there shouldn’t be much risk of retribution,” Reddington added. “We just have to be sure to get off the island before anyone realizes Moreau is dead.”

“Then it’s all set. I’ll seduce Moreau into inviting me to his bedroom and kill him.”

Tom kept his mouth shut. If Liz thought she was up for this, it wasn’t his place to argue.

“You two should go back to your room,” Reddington said after a few seconds of tense silence. “Here’s a vial of the poison; I’ll keep another one in here if something goes wrong. And Lizzie – I’m sure you’ve realized your room is bugged. Make sure you give whoever’s listening some excuse for where you were.”

“No problem,” Liz said with a dangerous smile. “Come on, Tom. Let’s check out the cabanas.”

~~~

Unfortunately “checking out the cabanas” did not prove to be a euphemism for “have sex on the beach”. As soon as they were sure that no one was watching the beach, Liz slumped against Tom. “Do you mind if we don’t do anything else tonight? I’m exhausted.”

“You’re the one in charge, Liz. You don’t have to ask me for permission to skip a night.”

A complex series of emotions flickered across Liz’s face, ending on a small, tired smile. “Thanks, Tom. When we get to the room, though, be sure to mention how great it felt to get tied up and held down while I forced you to eat me out in the cabana.”

That sounded pretty fucking amazing, actually, but Tom looked at the exhaustion on Liz’s face and kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place to make an offer. 

Well, not unless he was reasonably sure she’d say yes.


	26. Punishment

Over the next couple of weeks the Moreau mission advanced smoothly. After the third flat-out rejection from Liz, Moreau produced a reservoir of charm from somewhere and by the second week they had progressed from a lunch with Moreau, Liz and Tom, to Moreau and Liz sharing a coffee alone, to Moreau hinting at a sailing excursion with just him and Liz, something vigorously vetoed by both Tom and Reddington. Instead, Liz went with Moreau on a hike over the still wild part of the island and Tom, who had no way of following them without Moreau finding out, took advantage of the downtime to duck away from the tail Moreau had on him and visit the island’s lone hospital to get his tests done.

With a promise of results in a few days, Tom went back to the hotel, where Reddington was still staying. He said it was to be available during the Moreau mission. Tom thought it was because Reddington couldn’t hire staff at his villa without tipping off Moreau, and couldn’t bear the thought of cooking his own eggs and making his own bed.

“I don’t like this,” Tom said as soon as Reddington opened the door.

“It’s part of the mission.” Reddington stood back and Tom entered the room as he added, “She is armed, Tom.”

She _was_ armed, which was one of the big advantages of hiking with a backpack versus going on a sailboat in a bikini, but there was still a risk. “Does San Lorenzo have bears?”

Reddington looked unimpressed. “No. And even if it did, it’s too late to create an accident.”

Tom gritted his teeth, though he had to admit that it was nearly impossible to turn death by gunshot into death by bear. “How far have you gotten with the distraction?” he asked instead.

They planned havoc for a couple of hours before Tom headed back up his room to wait for Liz. He thought she might be there when he arrived, but the room was empty and it was another agonizingly long hour and a half before the door opened.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tom snapped, and even he wasn’t sure whether he was acting or not.

Liz paused at his words, looking a little surprised. Almost immediately her expression slid to pissed. “Excuse me?” she said, stepping into the room and slamming the door behind her.

“I asked where the fuck you’ve been. You were supposed to be back hours ago.” That was an exaggeration, but not much of one.

“I was _hiking_ ,” Liz snapped. “And having a fucking fabulous time while doing it. What the fuck were _you_ doing?”

Tom opened his mouth to yell at her that he’d gone to the clinic -- _just like she’d told him to_ \-- but checked himself at the last second. A gigolo who had a STD wasn’t going to be a gigolo much longer. “To the beach,” he finally choked out. “Got some sun.”

“Really?” she said snidely. “You don’t look very tan. Where were you really?”

Tom hesitated, not sure where she was going with this. Finally he settled on, “What the fuck do you care? You were off fucking some slimeball.”

Liz’s face suffused with red. “That is enough!”

“The fuck it is!” Tom shouted.

“Listen to me,” Liz hissed. “You have two choices right now: either walk out that door and never come back, or get naked.”

Oh, shit. That was most definitely not what he’d expected her to say. “Liz—”

“No. We’re done talking. You either start stripping or start walking.”

Swallowing past a suddenly dry throat, Tom started stripping.

Once he was naked, Tom stood there and let Liz look him over. “Into the bedroom,” she abruptly said. “Stand at the foot of the bed and hold your hands behind your back.”

Tom obeyed.

When Liz came into the bedroom, she was holding a leather strap. Tom’s heart rate shot up – they’d talked about physical punishment, but she’d never actually done it before. “Do you need me to tie your hands?”

Tom shook his head.

“Then turn to face the bed. Bend over at the waist and put your forehead on the bed.”

Tom followed the directions as best he could, but Liz still repositioned him several times, until he was a few feet back from the foot of the bed, with his forehead resting on the very end of the mattress and his legs spread past shoulder-width apart. It was an awkward position, especially with his hands clasped together at the small of his back.

“You are not to move from this position until I say so. Do you understand?”

Tom tried to nod, but it was difficult to do so successfully in his current position.

“I want words.”

“Yes,” Tom said, his voice gruff and strained. “I understand.”

“Good.”

After that, silence. For long minutes, Liz didn’t say anything at all. Tom tried to count the seconds, to measure the time as it passed, but his neck was starting to ache and all he could think about was the soft sway of that black leather strap in Liz’s beautiful white hands.

A soft whistle broke the silence and a second later a loud _crack_. Almost immediately, Tom’s ass lit up in a shocking sting and he grunted against the pain.

Before he quite caught his breath, the strap swung again, and again, and again. He lost track of the number of hits quickly, his ass turning one giant burning bruise of pain.

The pain wasn’t very intense – the sharp stings and the burning ache were nothing compared to the pain of getting shot, or getting stabbed in the leg, or even getting beaten up by Reddington’s goons – but the pain was _intimate_ on a level he’d never experienced before. All the other times he’d been hurt, it had been done _to_ him. Nothing like this, where he was holding himself up and open for the punishment.

It was hard to hold the position Liz put him in while a flurry of blows rained down on his ass. The stress of holding it, of staying still, was a constant reminder that he was not just letting this happen, but through his participation was _making_ it happen. If his knees buckled, if he pulled his wrists away from his back, Liz would stop. Tom knew that right down to his very bones.

He locked his knees. He clenched his hands tight together to hold them in place.

To his shock, he felt tears begin to slip from the corners of his eyes. He knew it wasn’t because of the pain – the last time he cried from pain was when he was twelve, and the beating he got afterward cured him forever. Besides, he was starting to feel disconnected from the burn, and even from the sharp stings of the blows. On the edge of his awareness, he could feel that there was something coming, something that would make him feel _amazing_ if he could just reach...

Suddenly, the blows stopped, and whatever was tickling the edge of Tom’s consciousness slipped away.

“Shit,” Liz said.

It took a couple of tries to get his mouth to work properly and when his voice came out it sounded like he’d been swallowing gravel. “Liz?”

“Shit. You’re bleeding.”

Tom frowned at that and tried to look at his own ass, which would’ve been difficult even if he wasn’t still in the position Liz had put him in, with his forehead on the bed, his arms behind his back, and his legs spread wide.

“Here,” Liz said, and gentle hands took his own, separating them. His shoulders ached as his hands were moved to the mattress. He twisted them a little, trying to ease the soreness as Liz helped him stand up. “How’re you feeling?” she asked gently as she pulled him into an embrace.

“Okay,” Tom said into her shoulder. He hesitated, then added, “I think.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Come on into the bathroom. I think you need to soak that... everything.”

Tom wasn’t looking forward to the feeling of water on his ass, but Liz had a much better understanding of the damage than he did, so he followed her as she led the way into the bathroom, plugged the tub, and started the water.

Under cover of the noise of the water running, she murmured, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that when I was angry.”

“It’s okay,” Tom said, feeling more confident in the assertion now that he’d had a couple of minutes to settle back into himself. “I mean, it didn’t feel great, but it did feel like something good was coming.”

Liz looked thoughtful at that, but when she spoke, it was on a different topic. “I’m going to cancel on my date with Moreau tomorrow.”

“Because of this?”

“Partially, but also because he’s been getting his way a lot the last week. I want him to have to work for it, to get desperate for it. Desperate enough so that when I hand him a drink in his bedroom, he doesn’t even think about turning it down.

“Good idea.”

It was a good idea, but that wasn’t why Tom agreed to it. The reality was, no matter how much he told himself and Liz that he was okay, he felt oddly shaky inside. It was an unsettling feeling, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, and if Liz was willing to stay with him until the shakes went away, he wasn’t about to tell her no.

Besides, as they sank into the tub together, Tom could feel Liz’s hands were shaking as well. Maybe they both needed to take a break.


	27. Love

The next day, they took it very easy. Liz kept trying to hold Tom, but it felt painfully awkward and when Tom finally twisted around and pulled her into his arms, he thought they were both relieved.

As they curled up together on the bed, Liz’s head resting on Tom’s chest, he thought about the last couple of weeks. They’d had sex several times, but nothing more adventurous than on that first night. They also didn’t have another night where they went twice and, as time had passed, Liz had seemed less and less enthusiastic about their sex life. It was one of the reasons why Tom had been so upset over her coming back later than planned – he’d been feeling her draw away for days.

Tom looked up at the ceiling, remembering the feel of Liz’s hand on his hip as she pushed the plug in, her fingers squeezing the base of his cock, the taste of her on his tongue as she straddled his face. He remembered the wave of need he felt when she laid down her first rule, the near painful shock of arousal when he saw that purple silicone in her hand.

The thought of giving all that up...

But Liz had been subdued all day, and she’d been withdrawing from him for weeks.

He just got her back.

“We’ll stop.”

Liz tensed.

“I mean it, Liz. It’s no good if you don’t want it, too.”

“Shut up,” Liz hissed.

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but she wasn’t done yet. “Did I tell you you could talk to me that way? Let go of me. I want a fucking shower.”

Shit. The bugs. He’d completely forgotten about the bugs.

“Get the water ready for me,” she added. “I want you on your knees and ready to eat me out when I get in there.”

Tom immediately rolled upright and headed into the bathroom. He turned the knob without looking where it landed and turned to Liz, who was hard on his heels.

“I’m sorry,” she said instantly.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do. After what happened last night...”

“You definitely don’t need to apologize about that. If anyone should apologize, it’s me – it’s clear you don’t want this. I should’ve stopped it weeks ago.”

“You mean the way I should’ve stopped having sex with you the first time I came and you didn’t?”

Tom frowned. Where the fuck was this coming from? “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? Imagine we were in a room with a four poster bed and I tied you to it, spread-eagle. Gagged you. Licked you out until you were loose and then strapped on that enormous black dildo you bought in Miami and fucked you until you couldn’t see straight.”

Tom groaned, unable to stop himself.

“Tell me that sounds as good to you as a long soak in the tub,” Liz added, “followed by a slow fuck in front of the fire, surrounded by brown sugar scented candles.”

“That sounds good to me. Really.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tom sighed. “Do the candles have to be brown sugar?”

Her lips quirked. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious. I don’t like brown sugar candles. They’re cloying.”

“Tom,” Liz said, the humor draining from her voice. “Be serious.”

Tom sighed again. “Liz, if you wanted sex in front of a fireplace, I would do it for you. Even if the candles were brown sugar.”

“I know you would. You’ve done it for me before. Why can't I do the same for you?”

“It’s different.”

“How?”

Tom stared at her incredulously. “You have to ask?”

“Tom, I don’t hate what we’ve been doing, just like I don’t think you hate the idea of romantic, brown sugar-scented sex. If I don’t hate it, there’s no reason why I can’t do it for you.”

That did make sense, but the warmth blooming in Tom’s chest had nothing to do with logic. “Liz, no one has ever...has ever...” He shook his head, his throat too thick to talk.

“I know,” Liz said, a small, gentle smile on her face. She slipped her arms around Tom, sliding her hands under his elbows, leaving his arms free to wrap around her. For long moments all Tom could do was hold her as tight, desperately grateful to have found her and to have found a way to make her care for him again.

“We should take a bath and find some candles,” he murmured into her hair.

She laughed. “Much as I like that idea, we’re still undercover. Liz Mallory doesn’t do romance. Besides,” her hands reached down and gripped Tom’s ass tightly, “you’ve been doing it my way for years. I think it’s only fair that you get a few more days that are all about you.”

“Yeah?” Tom asked, his lips twitching as he tried to hold back a grin of sheer joy.

“Yeah. We’re going to have to change one of the rules, though.”

“Which one?”

“Rule one.” Liz sighed. “Having to find a way to keep you from coming until I do is _stressful_.”

~~~

After their talk, things grew easier between them. They ended up taking a shower after all, washing each other under the spray. “How’s my ass?” Tom asked after Liz gave it a thorough inspection under the rushing water.

“I think it’s going to be fine. You probably aren’t going to want to do a lot of sitting today.” She hesitated before asking, “About that... do you want to take pain off the list?”

“No,” Tom said instantly. “I mean, that level of pain was fine. If the circumstances had been different, I think I could’ve even liked it. But I do want to take anything with knives off the list.”

Liz shuddered. “I’m happy to tell you that knives were never on the list, babe.”

He smiled a little at that. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d called him ‘babe’. It’d been a long time. Maybe even before Reddington turned himself in to the FBI.

“You know,” Liz said, a hint of teasing in her voice, “I can’t believe you broke cover earlier. I thought you were supposed to be some sort of world-class con man.”

Tom winced. “That usually doesn’t happen to me.”

“Really?” Liz’s voice dropped to an earthy whisper. “I heard it happens to everyone at some point in time or another.”

“Not me.” Tom couldn’t work up much humor about the situation; if he’d slipped up like that on one of his missions, the Major would’ve starved him for a week. “You did a good job covering for me.”

“I did, didn’t I? I think I deserve a reward.”

“Yeah?” Tom grinned and leaned back. “Like what?”

“Like maybe it’s time to try out that strap-on.”

Holy shit. Tom’s entire body lit up. “Really?” His voice came out hoarse and he had to clear his throat before adding, “That feels more like a reward for me. Are you sure there’s nothing I could do that you’d like more?”

“Honestly, Tom? I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“God, yeah. The idea of you spread out under me, begging me to give it to you – it’s hot.”

“Then why haven’t you done it yet?”

Liz wrinkled her nose, but when she spoke her voice was wry. “Because I’m pretty sure there’s no way you’re going to be able to follow rule one if I’m fucking your brains out.”

“Clearly we should’ve renegotiated rule one weeks ago.”

Liz laughed and let go of Tom to grab the water handles. “The voyeurs are going to think we’ve melted in here. Last chance to say anything you need to off the record.”

“Just one thing.” Tom gently twisted Liz around and took her hands. “I love you.”

Liz smiled sweetly and, for the first time since everything fell apart between them, answered back: “I love you, too.”


	28. Lust

“After that little display earlier, I’ve decided that it’s time for a bit of punishment. So I’m not going to tie you down. In fact, I’m not going to restrain you in any way. When I rip your ass apart with this massive fucking dildo, not only are you going to let me do it, you’re going to hold your legs wide open and beg me for it.”

Tom lifted an eyebrow and looked at the tangle of straps dangling from Liz’s hand. The silicone jutting from the end was actually the smallest of the ones he’d purchased in Miami, no wider than two of Liz’s fingers together. It was a lot longer than her fingers, though, and he could imagine that invading his body, penetrating him deeper than he’d ever felt before. “Yes, please,” he breathed.

Liz laughed, low and throaty. “God, you are such a fucking slut. Someday I’m going to get a bunch of friends in here and gangfuck you until you pass out.”

Tom flinched, unable to avoid the image. He’d been honest before when he said he didn’t really have any hard limits, and if Liz wanted to bring in multiple partners he would do his best for her, but the thought of letting a crowd of complete strangers use his body again... He swallowed hard, not sure he could stay in character if he tried to speak, and knowing that his softening cock was speaking plenty.

Liz frowned. “Like that, huh?” she said in the same throaty voice as before, but she followed that up with a silent mouthed _you okay?_

Tom nodded and mustered up a smile.

Liz didn’t look completely convinced, but she said, “Then help me get this on.” Tom sat up to help untangle the straps and under the clicking of buckles Liz leaned close and whispered directly into his ear, “Do you want to stop? The bugs are audio only, so we can fake it.”

Tom answered as quietly as he could. “We’ve never done this before; I doubt we could fake it convincingly. Besides, I’ve been wanting this for days.” Weeks, if he’s being honest. Maybe even months. The thought of the fantasies he’d had during that time went a long way in getting him hard again.

“Okay,” she murmured as Tom tightened the last strap. Louder, for the cameras, she added, “Lie back and hold your knees open.”

Tom did as ordered, and he felt himself sinking back into the game, enjoying the sight of Liz’s tight nipples and the way her eyes darkened with lust.

“Wider,” Liz said, her voice deep with arousal. “I want your legs to ache.”

Tom did as ordered, spreading his legs until his muscles protested.

“I’m revoking rule one,” Liz said, to Tom’s surprise. He hadn’t thought Liz Mallory would go that route. When she continued, though, it made sense. “I doubt you’ll be able to come with this club in your ass, but I want you to if you can.” She leaned in and added, more quietly but still loud enough to be speaking for the cameras, “I can’t wait to hear you sob as your rectum tightens around my cock. Your pain is going to be so _exquisite_.”

Jesus Christ. Much more of this and he was going to come from anticipation alone. “In me now,” he begged. “Please.”

As if she’d been waiting for just that, Liz grabbed the bottle of lube next to the bed and popped the top. “Don’t expect too much prep,” she said, even as she slathered a ridiculous amount of lube on her fingers. “Someday I’m going to make a plug full of lube. Imagine having that in you all the time, keeping you wet and open for me. At any moment I could bend you over, pull out that plug, and fuck you senseless.”

Tom moaned, both in encouragement and because Liz was starting to open him up. She took a long time with it, longer than she usually did when they were playing with the plug, but it still took Tom an embarrassingly long time before he realized what she was waiting for. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please, fuck me now.”

Liz pulled out her fingers and lined up the dildo.

Figuring rule two was clearly out the window as well, Tom let out a very vocal curse as the silicone slid further in than Liz’s fingers ever had and bumped up against something tight and unyielding. Liz frowned, slid out a little, and slid back in at a different angle. This time she went in all the way and Tom let out a thready whine of shockpleasure _intensity_.

“You like that,” Liz said, sounding breathless. “I didn’t even think you could take something this size, but you actually _like_ it.”

How the hell Liz could stay in character while doing this, Tom couldn’t imagine. The best he could do was pull his legs up even higher and bite his tongue to keep from saying anything incriminating.

Liz started thrusting then, shallow little pushes that got deeper and deeper until she was drilling into Tom’s ass, working like a piston between his legs. On one thrust her angle changed slightly and suddenly a bolt of sheer sensation blasted through him. Cursing loudly, Tom gave up on trying to hold his legs open and tried to wrap them around Liz’s waist instead. He wasn’t particularly successful – Liz always made it look easy; she was more flexible than he’d realized – but the change in position was enough for Liz to nail that sweet spot inside him with every thrust.

He lasted less than a minute after that.

When he came back down, he found Liz still fucking him, but the intensity had crossed the line into pain and Tom put a hand on her hip. Liz immediately stopped and looked at him closely.

A second later, she slid out. Fuck, that felt strange. And really wet.

“You’re a mess,” Liz commented as she struggled with the straps of her harness. “I think we’re going to have to take another shower.”

Even with the afterglow, Tom couldn’t help but wonder what Moreau’s men thought about the endless showers he and Liz kept taking.

In the bathroom, under cover of the noise from the water, Liz asked, “You okay? How was it?”

“Fucking amazing,” Tom said instantly. He leaned in and kissed her and was deeply gratified when she immediately wrapped herself around him.

“What about you?” he asked as they pulled apart. “You want anything?”

“I’m good.” Liz hesitated. “Tom... what we just did. Are you sure you wouldn’t want to try that with a man? I mean, silicone’s pretty amazing, but it’s not the real thing.”

Tom frowned. This was the second time Liz had brought up the idea of him being gay. Considering how he’d responded last time, he hadn’t thought she’d be asking again. Unless... “Is this some sort of fantasy of yours? To see me with a guy? Because if it is, I can do it.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “This self-sacrificing thing you do? It’s not nearly as attractive as you think it is.”

Tom wasn’t sure he agreed with that, considering how Liz had reacted to his sacrifices in the past, but he didn’t let himself get off topic. “You’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”

“I know, it’s just... you like getting fucked _so much_.”

“You love it when I go down on you,” Tom pointed out. “I bet lesbians are awesome at oral sex, probably better than me. Does that mean you want to sleep with a woman?”

Liz hesitated. “I mean... if I found her attractive, I guess I could.”

“And how many women have you found attractive?” Liz opened her mouth too quickly, so Tom added, “Sexually attractive.”

“There’s a lot of women out there I haven’t met yet,” Liz said defensively.

Tom sighed. “The point is, just because I have a kink that involves my ass, doesn’t mean I’m gay. I find women attractive. Specifically, I find _one_ woman attractive.”

Liz smiled at that, her face a beautiful mix of shy and sly. “Yeah? Do I know her?”

“You might’ve met once or twice.” Tom pulled her into his arms and she melted against him. “Are you sure I can’t do anything for you?”

“Maybe some cuddling? To make up for having to go back to Moreau tomorrow?”

Tom laughed. “Cuddling I can do.” He shifted and winced. “As long as we’re lying down. Between yesterday and today, I think my butt needs a break.”


	29. Shit Happens

It all went to hell two days later.

The day started off well enough. Liz treated Tom to a remarkably pleasant morning, during which she proved for the second time that she had no problems dominating from the missionary position. The cuddling after was nice, too, though Tom recognized that the aftercare was less for him and more for Liz.

It made sense, really. Considering the life Tom had lived, it wasn’t surprising that his limits were pretty broad, no matter what they tried. Liz, on the other hand, had led a pretty sheltered existence, thanks to Reddington’s interference. They were constantly hitting her limits.

When everything had changed between him and Liz, Tom had thought that because she liked giving orders, Liz’d be natural at dominating him in the bedroom. After several weeks in their new arrangement, he had to admit that he’d been wrong. In fact, Tom was starting to understand that, at its core, domination had very little to do with orders. The orders were there to satisfy his kink, but the way they were delivered, the careful approach toward his limits, the aftercare – that wasn’t about control, it was about nurturing. And nurturing was something that just didn’t come naturally to Liz.

Tom sighed. On the one hand, he could never regret the level of understanding that he and Liz were starting to find with each other. It was bringing them closer together than they ever could have been when Tom was playing the dutiful husband and Liz was playing the ideal FBI agent. On the other hand, now that he finally saw Liz, the _real_ Liz, he understood that something inside of her was stunted. Maybe even missing entirely.

Maybe it was because of trauma from the night of the fire. Maybe it was just the way she was born. Maybe it was both. The cause didn’t really matter. What mattered was the result.

Tom closed his eyes and just stood there for a moment as acknowledged to himself that no matter how much he loved Liz – and god, he loved her so much – they were never, ever going to have a child together.

Fuck, even a pet was a long shot. No wonder Hudson had disappeared within weeks of Tom leaving.

Tom sighed and forced himself to start walking again. He was being ridiculous. He and Liz – and Reddington, dammit – were fugitives from both the side of the angels and the side of the devils. There was no way Liz could be a mother, even she wanted it as much as he did.

Though, looking back, Liz’s behavior about the baby made a lot more sense. Even if everything with Reddington hadn’t happened, Tom thought that something else would have come up. Liz may not even be consciously aware of it, but subconsciously she clearly understood that she didn’t want a child. Maybe even understood that she didn’t have the ability to care for a child the way that it needed.

She _was_ going way the hell outside her comfort zone for Tom, so it wasn’t that she couldn’t love or even that she couldn’t sacrifice. But there was a distinct difference between an hour or two a day of focusing on Tom’s needs – followed by a lot of concentrated attention to her needs – and devoting herself 24/7 to a small child that would only rarely, if ever, return the favor.

Tom craved the opportunity to lavish that kind of affection onto a child, or even a pet. Maybe it was because of his own childhood, or maybe it was because he was trained to be the ideal partner and that training had bled into his own psyche. Maybe it was both. The cause didn’t matter. What mattered was the result.

Liz would never let him take care of her to the extent that he wanted to. And they were never going to have a baby.

That realization was when the day started to go to shit.

~~~

There was a brief improvement when Tom got his test results and found them negative, but the knowledge that he couldn’t call Liz with the news because she was out with Moreau put a damper on what should’ve been a nice moment.

And that was before he found a thug waiting for him outside.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Liz Mallory’s human sex toy.”

Tom lifted an eyebrow and considered the thug and his two friends. They weren’t very impressive; even Tom Keen the school teacher could probably have bloodied one or two of them before going down.

Unfortunately, Tom Keen the gigolo wasn’t much tougher than the school teacher. Tom resigned himself to a beating as he answered, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

One of the thugs looked struck by the comment, as well he should. A man getting paid to have sex with Liz wasn’t to be _pitied_.

Head thug didn’t look impressed at the deflection. “Mr. Moreau isn’t very happy with you. Says a man like you should appreciate what he has and shouldn’t be stepping out on his lady.”

Tom quickly considered his options, before opting to brazen it out. “Who says I’ve been cheating on Liz?”

“No need for STD testing if you were being faithful.”

Fuck this island and its single fucking medical center. “I got exposed to some tainted blood.”

The thug snorted. “Like a pretty little slut like you ever touches blood.” The thug leered. “Other than your own. I hear your lady likes it rough.”

Great. This guy was on the surveillance team and thought Tom had a pain kink. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough.

Frankly, the only upside was that they were all outside, in the middle of the day. Moreau clearly had a lot of leeway over law enforcement on the island, but even he couldn’t cover up a man getting beaten to death right outside the hospital in broad daylight.

Confident that any discomfort would be temporary – and maybe just a bit goaded on by the prospect of Liz taking care of him while he healed – Tom glared at the head thug and said, “I don’t see what business it is of yours.” Then he stomped forward, being sure to knock his shoulder into the thug’s to help speed things along. Really, this was the chattiest beating he’d ever gotten – even the Germans got in a few quick licks before the talking started.

The painful grip on his arm that turned Tom around was expected.

The black bag that suddenly slid over his head? Not so much.


	30. Dungeon

Tom woke up in a cage. He kept his eyes closed as he assessed the situation, but even in the darkness he could feel the bars of the cage digging into his skin.

That discomfort was minor compared to the aches and sharp pains he felt over his entire body. He’d started fighting for real once he’d realized that he was dealing with a kidnapping, not a beating, but he’d never had much experience fighting blind and before he could get the hood off he’d been wrestled to the ground and injected with something that had knocked him out.

If the burning in his back and torso was anything to go by, the thugs had taken a few cheap shots while Tom was unconscious. Nothing felt immediately dangerous, though, so he kept his eyes shut and focused his other senses on his surroundings.

Immediately he realized that they were underground. The air, the smell, the acoustics – all of them indicated that this was a basement. Not one of those modern basements with smooth walls and high ceilings, either; this space was dank and full of mildew. Considering where they were and how long these islands had been occupied, Tom guessed that he was going to open his eyes to some sort of smuggler’s cave turned into a dungeon. That would be a problem – unless Moreau had a dungeon off his wine cellar, they were probably in one of the more remote areas of the island. That would make it harder for Liz to find him.

He listened for a few minutes more, but he didn’t hear any sounds of rustling clothes or breathing, so he risked slitting his eyes open a millimeter.

He was facing a wall. Shit. Still, it allowed him to open his eyes all the way and look as much as he could without moving a muscle of his body. It was a matter of seconds to take in the rough stone walls, gleaming with water seeping through the mortar, and the pair of rusted manacles bolted into the wall near the wooden beams of the ceiling, just outside the shiny-new bars of the cage that was holding Tom.

Tom closed his eyes again. Apparently this _was_ a dungeon. Either Moreau liked to play games that were skirting the outside edge of safe and sane, or he handled prisoners regularly. Either way, this dungeon was probably on Moreau’s property – anything else would be too inconvenient.

Feeling a little better about his prospects, Tom was just about to turn over when he heard a clank of metal. Immediately he deepened his breathing into the slow rhythms typical of sleep and focused on calming his heart rate. While he got his body in order, he heard a metal door opening, followed by human voices.

“See, he’s still out. Probably will be for another hour or so.”

Interesting. If Tom had to guess, they probably based the dosage on an average man his size. Since Tom had a lot more muscle than average – and since the Major thought the best way to understand the effects of sedatives was first-hand experience – Tom metabolized knockout drugs faster than most. Depending on the quality of the guards, he might be able to turn this situation to his advantage, especially if he was in Moreau’s house. Liz may say that she had no problem with killing Moreau, but Tom didn’t think she’d mind if he was forced to put a bullet in the bastard during an escape.

“What do you think about him?” a new voice, also male, said.

“I think he’s a lucky bastard,” the first voice said. “If a woman wanted to pay me to fuck her, I’d jump at the chance.”

“That’s right,” the second voice said, sounding as if the speaker had just had a realization. “He’s a whore, isn’t he?”

“When they’re this high end, I think they’re called escorts. You know, like how crazy rich people are eccentric.”

“He’s a whore,” the second voice said, still sounding thoughtful. “And Ray says he likes taking it up the ass.” There was a pause before he added quickly, “The whore, not Ray.” Another pause. “I’ve always wanted to try fucking someone in the ass, but none of my girls ever went for it.”

Tom perked up. He didn’t want to get his hopes too high, but if this idiot actually came into the cage, Tom would have a hostage. Hell, if the first voice left, Tom might actually manage to get himself completely free.

“There’s a second penis involved,” the first voice said. “I got a rule that there’s only one penis involved in sex.”

“So it’s a penis. It’s not like you gotta look at it, especially if he’s face down while you fuck him.”

The first voice made a noise of disgust. “People shit out of their assholes. You couldn’t pay me enough to put my dick in there.”

“So you wear a rubber. You probably should, anyway – he was at the hospital getting tested for HIV.” There was a pause. “He likes it up the ass and he’s getting tested for AIDS. You think maybe he’s gay?”

“I think I don’t care,” the first voice said flatly.

“I bet he is gay. Why else would he let his bitch fuck him in the ass?”

Thank god Liz wasn’t here to listen to this bit of rationalization. The last thing he needed was to rehash the gay debate with her.

“I did say I didn’t care, right?”

“A gay man fucking a woman for money? I bet he’s desperate to feel a man again.”

Holy shit, this was really going to happen. Carefully keeping his body motionless, Tom started tensing muscle groups, getting the blood flowing in preparation for a fight.

“You want to fuck him, that’s no skin off my nose,” the first voice said. “But I don’t want to see that shit, so you wait until after I’m gone.”

Unfortunately, that pronouncement was not immediately followed by the sound of the first voice leaving. Tom kept tensing his muscles, anyway: the increased blood flow helped with oxygenation, speeding up his recovery from whatever remnants of drugs that were left in his system.

He was working on the muscles in his feet when the explosions started.

Two voices immediately started swearing. The metal door slammed a moment later. Tom sighed and turned over to find himself, as expected, in an empty room only a few square feet larger than Tom’s cage.

Now that the quiet approach was out the window, Tom got up and inspected the cage, ignoring the way that dust rained down from the ceiling with every explosion.

He was debating whether he had a realistic chance of picking the lock with his belt buckle – it would bring attention to the belt and risk its viability as a weapon, so he didn’t want to give it a try unless there was a chance it would work – when the metal door slammed open again. Liz stood in the doorway, wearing that stunning red dress and sporting a streak of blood – someone else’s blood – on her cheek.

Tom shuddered under the strength of his arousal and wondered if there was the slightest chance Liz would push him against the wall and fuck him right then and there.

“We have to hurry,” she said, producing a key and working at the lock. “I don’t know how many grenades Reddington has left.”

Sadly, that probably meant no wall sex. “Moreau?” he asked, forcing himself to focus on mission parameters.

“Dead.” Liz finally got the lock open. “I put a knife to his throat and made him drink the poison.”

Interesting. Tom wondered if that was because she knew it would be hard to escape while drenched in blood, or simply because she wasn’t able to slice Moreau’s throat. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said, and she actually sounded fine, which was a relief. “You?”

“Never been better.” Tom grinned at her. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Liz rolled her eyes, but she looked pleased. “Come on. I knocked the guard out, but I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

Hysterically enough, the dungeon _was_ next to the wine cellar. Tom stole a couple of bottles at random as they moved through the room. Worst case scenario, they’d serve as weapons in the escape. Best case scenario, he and Liz could have a drink on the boat. Judging by how dusty the bottles were, it would probably be the best wine they’d ever shared.

The explosions were still happening, though not as regularly, and they seemed to be getting further away. Tom recognized this strategy as one of the ones he and Reddington had worked up together – get the attention of the guards with nearby explosions, then draw them away from the house. While putting together the plan, both he and Reddington had assumed that the guards would be well-trained enough that only some of them would follow the explosions, leaving the rest to guard Moreau. Whether it was because their training was worse than expected or because Moreau was already dead, there didn’t seem to be a contingent of guards left at the house. The only one they saw was the unconscious guard by the dungeon door.

“Does this feel too easy to you?” Liz muttered as they slipped out the back door and ran for the private pier, where the yacht was waiting in the moonlight.

Tom thought about the guard who’d been completely serious about putting himself in a cell with a prisoner, and the second guard whose only protest was that the first guard wait until the room was empty before he entered the cell. “Actually, I think it feels like just the right amount of easy. Where’s Reddington?”

“He’s got the Zodiac. We’ll head out until we’re out of sight of land and wait for him there.” She stumbled slightly as they left the solidity of land for the floating pier, but managed to catch herself before Tom could even try to help. “Fair warning,” she added, “he’s not very happy with us.”

“That’s fair,” Tom admitted. He wasn’t happy with himself at the moment. Getting kidnapped by these amateurs was downright embarrassing.

Also embarrassing was how queasy he was getting now that they were on the water again. He did his best to help Liz untie the boat, but the nausea increased to the point that he had to sit down while she was navigating the boat back out to sea.

“You okay?” Liz called out from the wheel.

“Fine,” Tom answered, though he felt anything but. The nausea had worsened to vertigo and his head was starting to get woozy. He’d never felt motion sickness like this before – hell, usually he didn’t get seasick at all. But the feeling was getting worse with every passing minute and he was starting to feel a buzz in his head like he was going to faint.

Tom wrapped his arms around himself in a weak attempt to hold his stomach contents in place, and that’s when he felt how tight and hard his torso was. Apparently those thugs had managed to do some damage after all.

“Liz,” he ground out, “I think we might have a problem.”

Before she had a chance to answer, he slid into darkness.


	31. Internal Injuries

“You’re an idiot.”

Tom groaned and opened his eyes. “I love you, too, Liz.”

Liz scowled from her seat next to the bed and a small part of Tom’s brain noticed that they were in the larger cabin. Considering how many stairs and small doors there were between this cabin and the deck, it was probably for the best that Tom had been unconscious when Liz had dragged him down. Not that she would’ve been able to do it without help. Tom sighed. “Reddington’s on board, isn’t he?”

“Damn straight. Good thing, too – he was the one who figured out your organs were being crushed by your internal bleeding.” She reached out and smacked Tom very, very lightly on the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“I just thought it was some bruising. It wasn’t until we hit the water that I really started to feel it.” Liz didn’t look satisfied, so Tom added, “I have a really high pain threshold.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Liz rubbed her face and Tom acknowledged to himself that after his fantasies of her nursing him back to health, this was a hell of a disappointment. “Am I going to make it?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ll give you a transfusion if you need one, but Red thinks the bleeding’s probably stopped by now. I’ve been checking your stomach, just to be on the safe side.”

Tom instinctively pressed on his torso, finding it sore but no longer hard. “Please tell me Reddington didn’t cut into my gut.”

“It was either him or me and, trust me, you didn’t want it to be me. My first aid training isn’t nearly as comprehensive as his.”

This day just kept getting better and better. “Is Reddington piloting the boat right now?” Liz nodded. “Where are we headed?”

“Somewhere to resupply. Red managed to stock up on food and medical supplies while we were conning Moreau, but the rescue used up a lot of our ordinance.”

Tom made a face. “You know, you didn’t have to rescue me. I had a plan to get out.”

“Oh, really? I’d love to hear it.”

Tom ignored the sarcasm. “One of the guards was interested in fucking me. As soon as he got in the cage, I was going to take him hostage.”

Liz’s face abruptly lost all humor. “You mean one of the guards was interested in raping you.”

Tom shrugged. “He’d talked himself into thinking I’d want it.”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks, it matters what you think.”

“I think he was going to be my ticket out of there. If that meant him fucking me, I would’ve gone with it.” Liz looked appalled, so Tom hastily added, “It wouldn’t have come to that. The guy was a fucking amateur.”

Liz was shaking her head. “It’s not that. I just have a tough time understanding how you can be so casual about sex.”

“It’s a job, Liz. It’s been my job for more than half my life.”

“I know that, but... it just doesn’t seem right.”

Tom could’ve pointed out that women had been doing sex work for centuries, either for their country or for their pay or even just for their survival. He didn’t think Liz would appreciate that line of argument, though, so he changed the subject. “Is that why you’re sitting all the way over there?”

“I’m less than a foot away,” Liz said, rolling her eyes, but she got up from the seat and navigated the six inches to the bed. “Can you scoot over without hurting yourself?”

Tom answered her by moving, and in the process was pleasantly surprised by how little pain he was actually in. Whatever Reddington had done to drain the extra blood from his abdominal cavity, it must not have been too invasive.

As soon as the side of the bed was clear, Liz sat down next to Tom. It wasn’t as close as Tom would’ve liked – after the day he’d had, he would really have loved for Liz to wrap herself around him – but once they were settled Liz started running her fingers through his hair and that felt amazing.

Sure, it would’ve been nice for Liz to take care of him without him having to ask for it, but when he did ask, she was generous with her affection. Was it fair of him to wish for more?

No, it really wasn’t.

“Hey, Liz? I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’ve realized that we shouldn’t have kids after all.”

Liz gave him a sharp look. “You’ve been talking about children since we met.”

“I know, I know, but... look at the life we’re leading. Look at the enemies we’ve made. We can’t bring a baby into that.”

Liz swallowed and looked away.

Tom tried so hard to leave it there, to let that perfectly reasonable, non-judgmental excuse stand as the only reason for his change of heart. But he was only human. “Besides, you don’t want one.”

Liz flinched and her fingers stopped moving. “You always knew I didn’t like kids, Tom.”

Tom closed his eyes. She’d told him that, but... “But you’re so good with them.”

“Yeah, I can fake it for a few minutes, maybe even a few hours. That’s not the same as wanting to be around them.” There was a long silence before she added, “Everyone told me it’d be different if the kid was mine.”

It was Tom’s turn to flinch. He’d been one of the ones telling her that.

Liz wasn’t done. “So I just thought... maybe they were right. Maybe it would all come together as soon as I saw the baby and knew it was mine. I thought about it so long and so hard that I almost managed to convince myself. When we found out that we were getting the baby, I was really, genuinely excited.

"But then you showed me that ultrasound and you were so happy they could see it from space and I thought...”

She stopped. Tom thought it was another pause, so he waited for a bit before prompting, “You thought?”

Liz looked down at him and her eyes were swimming. “I thought, I _felt_ nothing. Not a damn thing.” A tear slid free. “Do you think that’s how my mother felt when she first saw me?”

“Oh, Liz.” Tom reached up and Liz immediately slid down until she was lying next to him, carefully wrapped up in his arms. “She didn’t feel that way. I know she didn’t. She gave up her entire life for you.”

“You mean the life where everyone was trying to kill her?” Even through her tears, her voice was dry. “Maybe I was just the excuse she needed to get free.”

There was probably more truth to that than either of them wanted to admit, so Tom just answered, “She was a spy, Liz. If she didn’t want you, she could’ve terminated her pregnancy. In fact, she was probably _told_ to terminate her pregnancy. Most agencies consider pregnancy a liability in field work.”

All of which was true, but none of which addressed Liz’s original statement. Liz didn’t push further, however, just tucked her face into Tom’s neck and let him run his hands in soothing strokes up and down her spine.

This was good, too, Tom had to admit. And if there was one thing Tom had learned from playing the ideal mate over the years, it was that no relationship was perfect. Especially not for him. What was important was to focus on the good bits, and try not to think about the bad.

Tom sighed and closed his eyes, and tried to lose himself in Liz.


	32. Past

They bought fuel in Saint Marie and grenades in a small island that didn’t appear on the charts that came with the boat. Reddington was pissy the whole time—

“Do you know how long it’s going to be before I can go back to San Lorenzo? That was one of my favorite villas!”

—but Tom found himself too caught up in Liz to worry too much about Reddington.

The fact that that made Reddington even more pissy? Just a bonus.

It wasn’t that they were caught up in sex. They hadn’t actually had sex since the talk about Tom’s experience in the dungeon and about Liz’s feeling about children. Instead, it was like they were dating again, only this time Tom didn’t have a dossier to help him tell Liz exactly what she wanted to hear.

Of course, he did have three years of experience with Liz, so it wasn’t as if he was really learning anything new about her. Still, he found himself enjoying the time they shared together. When they first dated, before he knew or cared about Liz, it had all been a job. Every action, every word – everything had been carefully planned and calculated to achieve his goal of inserting himself into her life as quickly and seamlessly as possible. Nothing unusual for Tom, of course – his entire adult life had been devoted to learning the art of instantly connecting with women.

What he and Liz were doing now was not that different on the surface: they cuddled together on the bed to watch movies, cooked lavish meals in the galley, and had rambling conversations on the couch in the tiny living area. To Tom, however, the experience was a revelation.

In the past, his conversations with women, even Liz, had always had a purpose, whether it be to learn more information about his mark, or to strengthen their relationship, or to manipulate her behavior. Nothing like these chats with Liz, which were nearly always focused on _his_ past, _his_ dreams, and _his_ desires. After two decades of giving his attention to others, having someone truly interested in learning about him was intoxicating.

And it wasn’t just Liz who was learning about Tom. After all that time tailoring himself to be the perfect man for whichever woman he was targeting, he’d lost most of the boundaries between himself and the roles he played. Now that he was in a real relationship, one with a woman who was determined to get to know the “real” him, he was learning how much of what he thought he’d known about himself was part of the act.

It started with breakfast two days after they left San Lorenzo. Tom made crepes and Liz cut the fruit, and after Liz had delivered a plate up to Reddington on the bridge, they settled down to eat.

Two bites in, Tom paused and stared at his plate.

“Babe?” Liz asked. “You okay?”

Tom shook his head slightly, and took another, smaller bite of crepe and strawberries.

Then he pushed the plate away.

“Tom?” Liz sounded like she was getting worried now. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

When he managed to get his voice to work, he found it soft and a little shaky. “I don’t like the strawberries.”

Liz looked surprised, and reached out with her fork to try one of the berries off Tom’s plate. Then she tried one off hers. “They taste the same to me, babe. You sure you aren’t getting sick?”

“No,” he answered, his voice getting stronger. “It’s not the fruit. It’s me. I think... I think I don’t like strawberries.”

“What do you mean you don’t like strawberries? They’re your favorite fruit.”

He looked at her helplessly. “I guess not.”

Liz closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. “This is about the Major again, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. Definitely about my line of work.”

“ _Former_ line of work.” She leaned back and sighed. “Okay, we can work with this. In fact, it’s probably a good thing that you’re starting to find your own preferences again.”

Tom hastily cut in. “I’m not an experiment, Liz.”

“No, I know, but – you need to figure out yourself. The _real_ you, not—” She stopped, looking struck.

“Liz?”

“...not Tom Keen.”

Tom stilled. “Liz...”

“No, Tom... Tom. Shit. Maybe I should start calling you Jacob.”

Tom frowned. “You asked me that before. I prefer Tom. I _think_ of myself as Tom.”

“But do you really? I mean, twenty minutes ago, you thought your favorite fruit was strawberries.”

Unfortunately, that was a valid point. “Fruit’s one thing. Going back to calling myself Jacob – that’s changing my whole identity.”

“To the identity you were born with. Jacob Phelps is your real name.”

“By that standard, Masha Rostova is your real name. Do you want me to start calling you Masha?”

They both shuddered.

“All right,” Liz conceded, “we’ll leave your name alone for now. But that still leaves us a ton of stuff to try out.”

Tom sighed and accepted the inevitable.

Over the next two weeks, as they made their way back up the east coast of the United States, Liz had Tom try every food, game, movie, and book genre on the yacht. To her frustration, however, there were no major new surprises, except Tom’s revelation that he didn’t actually like asparagus – something he’d already known, but had kept silent about since they were Liz’s favorite vegetable.

On the tenth day, after Tom acknowledged that cantaloupe was just as palatable as he’d always said it was – i.e., edible but nothing to rush out and buy – Liz sat back with a huff. “Everything’s the same. How is that possible?”

“It’s easier to lie when it’s just a hair off the truth,” Tom pointed out. “It took a lot of time and training to make me like strawberries. Probably it wasn’t worth it for most things.”

Liz’s expression sharpened. “You never mentioned training before.”

“It took me a while to figure out what the training was,” Tom admitted, already regretting saying anything. There was no way this could turn out well.

Sure enough, the next words out of Liz’s mouth were, “Tell me about it.”

For weeks he’d been dreading those very words coming out of Liz’s mouth, but now that the time had come, he felt a strange sort of peace. “He starved me, sometimes, as punishment. That’s where the strawberries came in. It was always the first thing he gave me to eat when I’d been going hungry.”

Liz nodded, her expression determinedly compassionate. “Why strawberries?”

“Because they’re so deeply tied to romance. I think he’d been planning this career for me from the very beginning.”

“But why strawberries?” Liz repeated. “They can’t be that important, can they?”

“Think about valentines day. About chocolate covered strawberries, strawberries and champagne, strawberry truffles. Hell, strawberries are even shaped like hearts. Maybe it wouldn’t matter to the average person on the street, but when your entire career is making women fall in love with you as fast as possible, you have to pay attention to every little detail. You can’t hate the universal fruit of romance.”

“I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face.”

“I’m not joking, Liz. The details matter.” He took a deep breath and added, “For example, when seducing a woman who is going into a profession where she will be working to protect and bring justice to victims, it’s a good idea to have a vulnerability. Something minor and not emasculating, but a legitimate weakness that can spark a feeling of protectiveness in her.” Liz stared at him, clearly not understanding what he was saying. “Something like not knowing how to swim,” he finished.

Her eyes widened. “You know how to swim?”

He shrugged, his shoulders aching with tension as he waited for her reaction.

“Well, fuck.”

Tom waited, but nothing else seemed to be forthcoming. “Liz?”

“So that party at Ellie’s place where that kid pushed you under and I had to come rescue you?”

“You’d just gotten engaged to Nick. I had to do something drastic.”

“Tom, you nearly _died_.”

“I can hold my breath a lot longer than you realize. Besides, I knew you and Ellie could resuscitate me if I had to stay down too long.”

Liz glared at her half-eaten plate of crepes. “Part of the Major’s training?”

“Special ops training is never pretty, Liz, no matter who’s doing it.”

“But I’m guessing assholes like the Major aren’t as concerned as the Navy SEALs with their recruits surviving the whole way through.”

Tom couldn’t say anything to that.

“All right,” Liz said, taking a deep breath and sounding like she was girding herself for something awful. “Tell me the rest.”

There was more than an hour left before Tom had to go up to relieve Reddington at the wheel and he used all of it. He told her about the laser tag and the swimming lessons. About the electrified fence on the obstacle course and the three months he’d spent learning how to smoke, only to go cold turkey because his first assignment turned out to be a non-smoker. About the three days he spent with a stylist, learning everything there was to know about how to change his looks to appeal to different targets. About the punishments: starvation, and losing his blanket in winter, and getting beaten by a wide strap that wouldn’t leave any permanent marks. He told her about his first few jobs, learning how to seduce men and women on carefully selected marks that were safe enough aside from their fatal attraction to underage virgins.

Finally, when there was only a few minutes left and his voice was starting to crack under the strain of his story, he told her the last of it.

“The Major had a dog, named Kelly. She was this beautiful black lab, and he brought her home as a puppy and put me in charge of feeding her and—”

Liz held up her hand and Tom gratefully ground to a halt. “I can guess where this is going,” Liz said. “And if you want to tell me, I’m happy to listen, but if you don’t—”

Tom shook his head.

“That’s fine,” Liz said gently. “I just need to know one thing – was Kelly the only dog he made you kill, or only the first.”

“Only the first,” Tom whispered, his voice barely more than a rasp, and waited her judgment.

Liz slid around the curved bench seat and wrapped her arms around Tom. He slumped into her embrace, shaking in relief. “We have to kill Eichhart first,” she whispered into his ear. “Because we need to be free from the Cabal. But after that...”

She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “After that, we’re going after the Major. And before we’re done with him, he’s going to _suffer_.”


	33. Coming Home

They reached Reddington’s private island early the next morning and found Mr. Kaplan waiting for them. Reddington jumped off the boat and actually pulled Mr. Kaplan into an embrace. 

Tom raised an eyebrow. If he’d been a better man, he might’ve acknowledged that Reddington had spent a lot more time alone in the last couple of months than Tom had, despite Reddington being a far more social person.

He’d never been a better man, though, so he turned to Liz and commented, “I didn’t think Reddington liked them that old.”

“If she hears you say that, I’m not going to protect you.”

Tom opened his mouth, thought about what he was about to say, and closed his mouth again.

Liz smirked.

Reddington and Mr. Kaplan spoke quietly for a few minutes before making their way back to the boat. “Come on down. Dembe set up a camp.”

Normally Tom would take a luxury yacht over a camp any day, but the trip back from San Lorenzo had taken even longer than the trip down, and the thought of standing on dry land again sounded like heaven.

Turned out that Tom and Reddington defined “camp” very differently.

“Wow,” Liz murmured as they came into a clearing to find a trio of neat wooden cabins lining a small grassy meadow dotted with beach chairs and featuring a large stone-lined fire pit in the middle.

Reddington and Dembe hugged each other as well, and they held onto long enough that even Liz’s eyebrows were raised. “Maybe they want to borrow our toys,” Tom murmured.

“Stop being an ass,” Liz hissed back.

Tom acknowledged to himself that he was being a bit of a dick. It was just difficult, after having Liz almost entirely to himself for weeks, to face the prospect of constantly having Reddington and his people around. “We could still go to Micronesia,” he offered.

Liz just shot him a look and strode forward to give Dembe a hug of her own. Tom sighed, and followed.

Not that he was going to be hugging anyone, other than Liz. He did have his limits.

Reddington, his people, and Liz gathered around the fire pit and Dembe pulled out what looked like three quarters of a good sized pig. Deciding that fresh barbecue was an acceptable reason to play nice, Tom gave up on his scowl and dragged forward a couple of chairs.

Over the next couple of hours, they got caught up on the news. The real news, not just the sanitized tidbits of the Fulcrum that were occasionally sneaking through the information firewall that had gone up after that first wave of explosive revelations. According to Mr. Kaplan, both sides of the law were still reeling from the slaughter that had occurred after the Fulcrum had been opened; far more people had died than had made it into the news, and a lot of organizations had not just lost their top leadership, but the level after that and sometimes even the level after that. The resulting power vacuum had thrown the world into chaos that was just now starting to show the signs of receding.

“And what about General Eichhart?” Liz asked.

“He’s gone into hiding,” Mr. Kaplan said. “I haven’t been able to find out where.”

Tom exchanged a look with Liz. He’d never heard of anyone managing to escape from Mr. Kaplan. It was one of the reasons why Tom had gone to Reddington after the boat – he’d known there was no point in trying to hide.

“That’s unfortunate,” Reddington said, “but knowing Eichhart, he’s been working on an escape plan for years. What about his children?”

“They’re less well hidden,” Mr. Kaplan answered. “I have people watching them, but so far they haven’t made contact with Eichhart.”

“Perfect,” Reddington said. “We can work with that. How goes the mission for General Cho?”

Dembe glanced at his watch. “She should be calling in the next hour.”

“She?” Tom asked.

“Dembe has a friend in China,” Reddington said brightly. “She specializes in missions like these.”

No one said the word _assassin_ , but Tom knew they were all thinking it.

Reddington took an ostentatious sniff. “It sounds like we have a bit of time. I suggest that we all enjoy this delightful meal. 

Tom considered the mountain of meat slowly turning over the fire and got up to help Dembe find the plates.

They were just down to the last few scraps when the clunky satellite phone next to Dembe’s chair rang. He picked it up, listened for a few seconds, then put the phone back down. “It’s done.”

Reddington beamed.

“Is she the one you’re using for Eichhart?” Liz asked.

“I’m afraid not. Ms. Zhang is one of the best snipers in the world, but that’s not helpful if you don’t know where your quarry is. No, we don’t need a sniper. We need an interrogator. Someone who can get answers without his target realizing the questions are even being asked.”

Liz frowned. Everyone else looked at Tom.

“Eichhart has a daughter,” Tom guessed.

“And a son.” Reddington shook his head with overblown sympathy. “It’s a shame that in this day and age some people still feel they have to hide in the closet.”

“Wait a minute...” Liz said.

“You want me to go after both of them? That can be risky.”

“But it doubles our chances of success,” Reddington said, and he did have a point.

Besides, it wasn’t all that risky. It’d be a lot easier than seducing two sisters at the same time and Tom had done that more than once.

“Do I get any say in this at all?” Liz asked in glacial tones.

Tom turned to her. “Of course you do.” He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him as he added, “You’re my handler. If you don’t want me to do this, I won’t.”

Some of the tension went out of her shoulders. “I thought your handler was just in charge of finding you jobs, not telling you which ones to take.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also my wife. You get a lot more say.”

Tom held his breath, waiting for Liz to remind him that they weren’t married anymore.

Instead, she turned to Reddington, “Exactly how do you imagine this mission will work? Will Tom have to sleep with either of the marks?”

“It’s possible. Probable, even, when it comes to the girl.” Reddington said, and Tom couldn’t decide if this was part of that bullshit “Reddington doesn’t lie to me” line that Liz had been using, or if Reddington was trying to talk Liz out of agreeing to this mission, for some reason.

Sure enough, Liz looked furious. “And you thought I’d be okay with that?”

“I think Tom will do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” Reddington answered.

Now the situation was starting to become clear. It might’ve even worked, too, if Reddington had tried to pull this stunt a month ago. After the last couple of weeks, however, Tom was a lot more confident in Liz and he didn’t hesitate to answer, “I’m not doing anything if Liz doesn’t agree.”

“Even if it means she’ll never be safe?” Reddington asked.

Tom smirked at him. “She’ll be safe in Micronesia.”

Liz huffed a put-upon sigh and turned to Dembe and Mr. Kaplan, who were looking suspiciously blank-faced. “The worst part is that I’ve had to put up with this for _weeks_.”

Dembe let out a suspiciously timed cough. Mr. Kaplan kept a straight face, but Tom thought he glimpsed a twinkle in her eye.

“Then I guess the decision is up to you, Lizzie. Does Tom take the mission or not?”


	34. The Talk

“I really don’t like the idea of you having sex with someone else, male or female.”

Tom leaned back against the bar that separated the galley from the dining area. He and Liz had retreated back to the yacht to discuss Reddington’s plan, with a promise to give an answer to his question in the morning. Tom figured it’d take at least that long to convince Liz to let him take the mission. “I get it, Liz. I wouldn’t want you having sex with someone else, either.”

“Yeah, about that.” Liz crossed her arms and settled back into the couch. “As I recall, when I was undercover, your response to me having sex with the mark was “no way in hell”.”

Not exactly what Tom had said, but close enough. “That was different.”

“Why? Because you’re a man?”

“No,” Tom said, exasperated. “Because you’ve never had to have sex with someone you didn’t want to before.”

Liz stilled, her arms falling down to rest by her sides. “And that’s all you had for most of your life,” she said softly. “Do you really think that makes it okay for me to send you off to do it all over again?”

“I think it’s not as big of a deal for me as it is for you. Any trauma I might’ve felt about it is long over, Liz. Now... now it’s just part of the job. No different than fighting someone or interrogating someone or killing someone. Just another part of the skill set.”

“I hate that,” Liz hissed.

“I’m not thrilled either, but the damage is done. And Liz... you know Reddington isn’t going to let this mission go just because I’m not available. He’s going to have those kids interrogated no matter what you decide, so you’ve got to ask yourself – whatever Eichhart’s done, do you think his children really deserve to be interrogated by Brimley?”

Liz shuddered, which was similar to Tom’s reaction whenever he thought of Reddington’s favorite torturer.

“Fine,” Liz said. “On two conditions.”

Tom felt a curious mix of emotions. Relief was one, because this really was important to keep Liz safe, but at the same time he felt oddly disappointed. He’d wanted her to agree, hadn’t he? “What conditions?”

“First, no sex.”

“Liz...”

“No. You are not cheating on me.”

Tom sighed. “It’s not cheating. It’s just part of the job.”

“I don’t give a shit. If we’re together – and we are –”

The surge of elation Tom felt at that was so strong it _hurt_.

“—then you’re going to have to accept that I _don’t fucking share_.”

Christ. Tom didn’t think his heart could take much more of this. “So that talk about a gangbang...”

“Was me playing Liz Mallory. Jesus Christ, Tom. Did you really think I was serious about that?”

“Some women like that sort of thing.”

“Some women are idiots.”

Tom took a deep breath and decided it was time to move on. “You said there were two conditions. What’s the other one?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Tom said instinctively, before the words had even fully registered.

Liz looked hurt. “What? Didn’t I do a good enough job in San Lorenzo?”

“You did an amazing job in San Lorenzo. But San Lorenzo is a long way away from the United States. They didn’t care much, if at all, about the news of the attorney general’s death, especially not with everything else that came out right after. Here in the US, you’re going to get recognized.”

Liz bit her lip, that awful hurt expression fading into something more thoughtful. “What if I dyed my hair?”

Tom tried to imagine Liz with red or blonde hair and couldn’t quite picture it. “That might be enough if you were just passing through. Undercover is longer term, and more intimate. You wouldn’t be able to hide who you were for the full time, especially not from the Cabal.”

“Moreau was in the Cabal.”

“From what Reddington told us, Moreau was only in the Cabal to handle money. There’s power in that, but not much need for information. Especially since he was locked away on a tiny island.

“Eichhart, on the other hand, is right in the heart of the Cabal’s headquarters. He probably found out about Connelly before the press did.”

“Then he’d know about _you_ ,” Liz said, sounding exasperated. “Connelly had you exonerated. The Cabal had to know about that.”

Tom shook his head. “You don’t get it, Liz. They didn’t have me exonerated because I was important. If I’d been important, they’d _want_ me in jail, where I’d be easy to get to. All they cared about was you and Reddington. My exoneration was just a side effect.”

“But...”

“I’m a nobody, Liz. To the Cabal, I’m nothing more than an ant. Do you consider what happens to a single ant that scurries away when you kick a nest?”

“But you worked with Reddington. I’m pretty sure the Cabal keeps tabs on Reddington’s people.”

Tom snorted. “That’s the beauty of it. I _betrayed_ Reddington. If the Cabal thinks anything of me and Reddington, it’s that Reddington would never work with me again. And he wouldn’t, if it wasn’t for you.”

Liz sighed. “I just don’t like you going in alone.”

“I’ve worked alone my entire life,” Tom pointed out gently.

“Marriage is supposed to change that.”

Tom froze. “Are we still married?”

“Well not _legally_ , but... when I first found out who you were, what you did, I thought you were a stranger.”

“And now?”

“Now I know you’re not. I don’t think you ever were. Tom Keen, the schoolteacher, was a mask, but it wasn’t a very deep one. Not when it comes to me. You and I together are not much different than we ever were, save for a little extra kinkiness in bed.”

Tom’s lips quirked at that, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Tom.” Liz sighed. “Do you want to do this mission?”

“You’re my—”

“That’s not what I asked. Forget about me. Do _you_ want to do this mission?”

Tom hesitated. “No sex.”

“Condition of my agreement,” Liz said firmly.

“Then yeah, I do.”

Liz closed her eyes for a moment, a spasm crossing her face. “Okay then,” she said, opening her eyes. “We’ve got ten hours left before we have to go tell the others. Let’s make the most of them.”


	35. 10 Hours (pt 1)

“Grab the headboard.”

Tom immediately did so. The leather upholstery of the headboard was buttery soft, but did nothing to mask the hard edges of the wood underneath.

“Knees up, legs spread.”

Tom obeyed, exposing himself completely to Liz’s cool gaze. She was standing at the foot of the bed, still fully dressed. With air wafting over his balls, Tom was abruptly very aware of his nakedness.

Liz stepped around the bed and picked up one of the spare pillows. “Hips up.”

The pillow in place, Liz manually adjusted Tom’s position with a couple of light touches on his knees and ankles. It was the best kind of torture, the anticipation building with every brush of her fingers.

Stepping back, Liz eyed her handiwork. “You ever use a cock ring before?”

Oh, Jesus. After the last couple of weeks, Tom was already on edge and he had to grit his teeth for a few seconds to get himself together before answering hoarsely, “Once, during training. So I’d know how they worked. Then I was playing a sexual innocent and after that my roles were too clean cut.”

“That’s unfortunate. Everything I read said there’s an adaption curve for cock rings and I don’t think I have the patience right now.” She smirked and leaned over to grab the bottle of lube off the side table. “Guess that just gives you a reason to come back.”

Tom swallowed. His throat felt dry and his body was already tingling with anticipation, but there was something he had to make clear before they went any further. “I already have a reason to come back, Liz. The most important reason.”

Her eyes softened, even as she slicked her fingers. Tossing the lube aside, she settled between Tom’s legs. “Good answer,” she breathed, before sliding a finger in his ass and taking his cock into her mouth.

Tom _wailed_.

Liz pulled off and added, “By the way. Rule one is back in effect.” She smiled, deceptively sweet, and took him in again. Tom stifled a curse, gritted his teeth, and held onto the headboard with everything he was worth.

By the time Liz pulled off the last time, she had three fingers in Tom’s ass, Tom’s cock was so hard it ached, and his hands were starting to cramp from how tight they were clutching the headboard. “You doing okay?” she asked as she carefully pulled out her fingers.

Tom tried to answer, but all that came out was a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah.” 

“Good. Let me see your hands.”

It took a couple of tries before he could get his fingers to unlatch from the headboard. Liz wiped her hands off with a towel and then took each hand in turn, pressing her thumbs deep into the muscles of his palms, right into where they were knotting. Tom hissed, but the pain was gone almost immediately, and the relief that followed felt amazing.

Not amazing enough to make up for a lack of orgasm, though. “Are we done?” Tom asked, trying to sound like he’d be happy no matter what Liz’s answer was.

She smiled. “Just getting started. Get my harness.”

Tom perked up at that and rolled off the bed to get to the drawer where they kept most of their toys. By the time he’d gotten the harness out and the straps untangled, Liz was naked and Tom was thrumming with need and excitement. He looked over their supply of dildos and vibrators, but didn’t ask the obvious question. Liz would let him know what she had in mind.

Sure enough, she stepped over to the drawer and pulled out one of the medium sized dildos. It was a garish teal and had a slight curve to it and Tom shuddered at the thought of that going in his ass. It wasn’t huge, but it was definitely larger than the last one Liz had used to fuck him.

Getting Liz into the harness went a little more smoothly than the last time, but it was definitely something that took a bit of practice. Fortunately, fussing with buckles gave Tom enough breathing room to back off from the knife edge of arousal and by the time Liz declared the harness in place, he was back to looking forward to whatever delicious tortures she had planned.

Then she said, “On your knees.”

Tom shivered with anticipation and turned to crawl onto the bed on all fours.

“No,” Liz said sharply. “On the floor.”

Oh, shit. Tom had an idea of where this was going. By the time he’d settled down on his knees, his mouth just inches away from Liz’s artificial cock, he was right back on that knife edge.

Liz slid a finger under his chin and lifted his face. “You look good from this angle.”

If she’d given him a chance to speak, he’d happily have returned the compliment, but instead she pressed her thumb to his lips – leaving her index finger under his chin – and forced his mouth open. “Ready to suck my cock?”

Tom tried to nod his head, but Liz’s hold on his jaw tightened and he all he could do was kneel there, staring up at her, waiting.

Liz pushed his jaw down with her thumb, opening his mouth wider. Tom let his jaw hang open and Liz took her hand away, replacing it with the silicone cock. Tom immediately closed his mouth around it, sucking down hard enough to make his cheeks hollow.

“Fuck,” Liz breathed, shuddering hard as pink bloomed on her chest and breasts. Tom felt a burst of satisfaction. He’d never seen Liz this turned on, this fast before.

Wanting to get more of that reaction, Tom started bobbing up and down on her cock, taking it as deep as he could without gagging. “Fuck,” Liz said again, her voice getting a little shaky. “Holy fuck, I had no idea.”

Tom grinned around the silicone, and started really pulling out the stops, using all of those techniques he’d learned while playing the bait in the Major’s little teenage hooker blackmail schemes. He licked the cock and double fisted it and sucked on the bottom of the head, almost like it was the real thing. The whole time he made sure that he was looking up at Liz through his eyelashes, and kept his mouth as round as possible, playing up the distortion of his lips caused by the cock.

Liz’s responses were deeply gratifying. Her breathing increased, she moaned and gasped, and moisture started dripping down her thighs. Every sound and smell turned Tom on a little more and finally he couldn’t take it anymore. Taking the dildo between this teeth, he pushed it down and back against the flesh of her mons, not very hard or fast, just enough to suggest a rhythm. At the same time, he slid a hand up Liz’s inner thigh and rubbed hard against her clit.

She came with a cry, curling over Tom and clenching hard at his shoulders with her hands. Tom knelt there and took in the sting of her nails against her skin, the pile of the carpet digging into his knees, and the press of the dildo against the top of his mouth. It wasn’t anything like comfortable, but it was hot as hell and he only managed to keep his hands off his cock by gripping his own thighs tight enough to draw blood.

“Fuck,” Liz said again as she stepped back, the dildo slipping out of Tom’s mouth in the process. It bobbed just a centimeter or two from his lips, looking obscene and wet from his saliva.

He was so caught up in staring at it that he almost missed the moment when Liz’s knees buckled.

“Whoa,” he said, grabbing her at the last second and helping her ease down next to him on the floor. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. She laughed lightly, sounding tired and amazed. “No wonder guys like blowjobs so much. The sight of you on your knees, sucking my cock...” Another hard shudder went through her body.

Tom knew it would be at least a quarter of an hour before she was ready to go again, no matter how turned on she was, so he wrapped an arm around her and leaned against the foot of the bed. “I get it. Every time you think of it, you get so turned on it hurts.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was soft, languid, and Tom tightened his grip, feeling fond and so in love that it made his chest hurt.

“I feel the same way about getting on my knees for you,” he told her. “About giving my body up to you.”

“You felt this way the entire time we were in San Lorenzo?”

“Well, only when we were having sex. Or when I was remembering us having sex. Or when I was looking forward to us having sex. Or—”

Liz cut him off with a laugh. “No wonder you kept going off like a rocket.” She yawned. “Sorry, I think I’m going to need a nap before we start the next round.” She glanced down at Tom’s erection, still hard and eager. “You okay to wait for me to wake up?”

Tom shook his head. She still didn’t get it. Just the thought of lying next to Liz, hard and eager and unable to touch himself, waiting for her to wake up and use his body as she saw fit – it was his turn to shudder in arousal. “It would be my pleasure.”


	36. 10 Hours (pt 2)

“How long was I asleep?”

Tom smiled at her. “Not long. Half an hour, maybe.”

“’k.” Liz sounded like she was still half asleep, but her eyes stayed open as she cuddled closer. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll take care of you.”

“No hurry. We’ve got time left.”

Liz stilled and some of the sleepy satisfaction slid from her face.

“Liz?”

“How long do you think it’ll take? To get Eichhart’s kids to tell you his location?”

Tom hesitated. On the one hand, this was their last night alone together for what could be a very long time. He didn’t want to waste it talking about work.

On the other hand, the thought that Liz was already thinking about missing him – it felt fucking amazing. And it wasn’t like he didn’t know everything about her job – maybe it was time for her to know more about his. “It depends on the mark,” he finally answered. “If we get the right mark, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”

“And if it’s the wrong mark?”

Tom sighed, some of his good mood slipping away. “Several months, probably. Hopefully less than a year.”

“A _year_?”

“Hopefully less. That’s probably the worst case scenario.”

Liz was silent for several long seconds. “What makes someone a good mark?”

Tom settled a little bit more comfortably on the bed. This was shaping up to be a long conversation. “Strong. Confident. Beautiful.”

Liz gave him a Look.

Tom rolled his eyes. “It’s not about me being attracted to them. You remember how we first met?”

“Of course. We ran into each other at the coffee shop. Literally. You got coffee all over yourself.”

“And what was your first thought when you saw me?”

Liz’s lips twitched. “That it was a pity I was dating someone else.”

“Exactly,” Tom said, smiling back. “You made the assumption that if you wanted me, I was yours for the taking.”

Liz’s smile slipped. “I didn’t say that.”

“I’m not judging, Liz. It’s just the truth. Someone as stunning as you could have your pick of men, so your first thought is whether or not you want that man.”

Liz was frowning now. “And a weak, uncertain, ugly woman? What’s her first thought on meeting you?”

“‘What’s wrong with him?’”

“Really?” Liz asked, and she sounded genuinely curious. Tom guessed she didn’t get a lot of psychology of the meek female wallflower in her criminal profiling classes. “Why?”

“Because men are assholes.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Cute. What’s the real reason?”

“That’s basically it. Most men will approach the most attractive woman they think they have the slightest chance of success at. Someone unattractive, especially if she’s lacking in confidence, would never get hit on by someone like me.”

Some humor stole back into Liz’s expression. “Someone like you?”

“Attractive, physically fit.” Tom shrugged. “It’s my job to appeal to women. I have to fit within the generally accepted parameters of male beauty.”

“I guess it was lucky for the Major that you turned out as nice as you did.”

“Yeah, luck had very little to do with it.” Tom thought about the scars on his nose and chin, so faint now that they weren’t visible unless you knew exactly where to look and what you were looking for.

Liz closed her eyes as fury flickered over her lovely face. “That _bastard_.”

Tom made a non-committal noise.

Liz sighed and opened her eyes. “So what if you do if you have a mark who isn’t pretty enough to fall for one of your meet cutes?”

“Depends on the mission,” Tom answered, glad to get off the topic of the Major. “Something short term, I can make myself less attractive.”

“Really? And how do you do that?”

“Dye my hair orange. Grow muttonchops. Hide my physical condition with unflattering clothes.”

Liz leaned back and stared him in the face. “I can’t imagine you with orange hair and muttonchops.”

“Trust me, it’s not a good look.”

“And you can only do that in the short term, because people rarely make themselves look as ugly as possible.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you do if it’s a long term mission?”

“Then I take advantage of the fact that women are assholes.”

Liz laughed. “Well, at least you’re equal opportunity. How are women assholes?”

“Women judge a man’s attractiveness in a lot of ways. Appearance is one, but also his job, his manners, his perceived intelligence.”

“So, what – you get a job as a trash collector and start ostentatiously scratching your balls?”

Tom smirked. “More or less attractive than me teaching adorable children how to read?”

Liz opened her mouth and then closed it again with a huff. “Fair point.” She sighed. “I just – I don’t really want to imagine you seducing a beautiful woman, but at the same time, I don’t want you to disappear for a year.”

“I won’t disappear, Liz. You’ll know where I am.”

Liz shot him an unimpressed look.

Tom sighed. “There is one thing that can speed things up.”

“Yeah?”

Tom hesitated, but this was something they’d have to discuss before he left. “How do you define ‘sex’?”

Liz stiffened and when she spoke, her voice was a warning. “Tom...”

“Nothing speeds up a relationship quite as fast as an orgasm,” he said. “And, honestly, if this is a year-long mission, it’s going to be nearly impossible to complete without some sort of physical relationship with the mark.”

Liz slapped a hand over Tom’s mouth. “Stop talking. Let me think.”

Tom obediently went still and waited, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment. He was utterly aware of Liz’s hand, of every tiny intersection between the bumps of her fingers and the skin of his lips. At the same time, he could smell the mingling scents of Liz and musk and sex in the room, making the air close and humid, so rich and tangible that he could almost feel the weight of it pressing down on his body and filling his lungs with every breath. His cock, which had softened during Liz’s nap and the long conversation, stirred again at the though of some part of Liz passing through his lungs and invading his entire body, down to the marrow of his bones.

Liz pulled her hand back and Tom gasped, unsure if he had just been released or if he had just put himself inextricably under Liz’s thrall.

Silently, so silently that the thought was almost hidden even from himself, he hoped it was the latter.

“No anal,” Liz said. “Your ass belongs to me.”

Tom felt a little lightheaded as all of his blood rushed south. “Okay.”

“And no penetration on your part, either, vaginal or anal.”

“Oral?”

“Only if you absolutely have to. Condoms the whole time. That’s non-negotiable.”

“I can do that.” He could do a lot with that; he honestly hadn’t expected Liz to give him that much.

“And now I’m ready for something else.” A soft, slim hand slid between Tom’s legs. “And it feels like you are, too.”

Tom groaned. “Anything you want.”

“I’d planned on fucking you,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I’d planned on making you suck my cock again and then bending you over the back of the bed.”

Tom whimpered, intensely regretting the fact that they’d taken the harness off Liz before her nap.

“But if this does turn out to be the last time we have sex for the next year, there’s something I want instead.”

“Anything,” Tom repeated.

Liz turned over and slid back until she was tucked up against Tom’s chest, her ass pressing against his groin.

Tom’s breath caught. This was actually Liz’s favorite sexual position; she’d told him in the past that she loved it because she felt safe when he was wrapped around her, protecting her. That it made her feel cherished. Loved. Happy.

They hadn’t had sex in this position in over a year. Not since before Reddington, before the boat, before everything went to shit.

“Yeah?” he breathed, wrapping his lower arm up over her chest and his upper arm down over her stomach.

She grabbed the arm that was tucked between her breasts and held on tightly. “Yeah.”

Tom closed his eyes and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Then he reached down and positioned his cock. “Ready?”

“ _Tom_.”

He pressed in, slowly, moving his arm back over her stomach and holding her tight as he slid in. She was wet and welcoming and he moaned into the nape of her neck as he bottomed out.

“Yes,” she hissed.

He nuzzled her neck and held her a little tighter as he began to thrust.

It was a long, languid fuck, slow and sweet in a way their sex hadn’t been of late. Tom breathed endearments into her ear, relishing the feel of Liz in his arms and holding her close as they made love.

~~~

Everyone was gathered around the fire pit when Tom and Liz emerged from the yacht in the morning.

“Breakfast?” Reddington asked mildly.

“Starving,” Liz said, snatching the plate he held out to her and making quick work of the eggs and bacon.

Not in the mood to put off the inevitable, Tom turned to Mr. Kaplan instead. “Files?”

She passed over two manila folders, one noticeably thicker than the other.

Tom opened the thicker one and swore under his breath. Eichhart’s daughter was short, plump, and radiated uncertainty even from her DMV photo.

He closed the folder and opened the other one. Better. The son was tall, fit, and clearly took care of himself. He wouldn’t be too surprised at Tom’s eye straying in his direction.

The daughter, on the other hand. Tom sighed and went back to the first folder and started to read.

An hour or so later, he looked up to find everyone staring at him. “Well?” Liz asked.

Tom turned to Reddington. “What’s my budget?”

“Whatever you need,” he said instantly.

“Great.” Tom turned to Liz. “Sorry, sweetheart, but this is going to be a long one.”

She bit her lip and turned away.

Tom turned back to Reddington. “Okay. I need two grand, an ironclad identity, and a dying grandmother.”

“Fantastic,” Reddington said brightly. “Let’s get to work.”


	37. Roy Baker

Roy Baker was under a Dodge Ram, working on popping open a rusty drain plug, when his phone rang.

Swearing under his breath, he glanced around what he could see of the shop. It was after hours and he didn’t see any legs, so he answered the call. “Liz? Everything okay?”

_“Are you still at work? Why are you still at work?”_

“My grandma’s dying. I need the extra cash.”

Liz sighed. _“You really go method, huh?”_

“It’s the job, Liz.” Tom wrenched one last time on the plug and then rolled out of the way as dirty oil started pouring into the shallow bucket he’d dragged under the truck. “I don’t know how you can still be surprised. It’s been two months.”

_“Yeah, well, it was easier when you were establishing your cover in South Carolina.”_

“And when you were on the yacht?”

There was a long pause. _“I thought you said Roy Baker didn’t watch the news.”_

“He doesn’t.” That was crucial to allow for Roy to have plausible deniability about knowledge of the Cabal. “But you and Reddington have been making a hell of a splash. Everyone in the shop was talking about the two FBI most wanted fugitives nearly getting caught in DC.”

He could almost hear the wince over the phone. _“Yeah, that didn’t go according to plan.”_

“And what is the plan?”

_“Honestly, I have no idea. You know how Reddington is.”_

Tom did know how Reddington was; that was the problem. Unfortunately, Tom had to admit that a contingency plan wasn’t a bad idea. Eichhart might’ve cared enough about his kids to get them out of DC after the Fulcrum went public, but he hadn’t cared enough about them to hide them with him in whatever impenetrable foxhole he’d found.

A light went on in the back office. “Shit. Liz, I have to go.”

_“Okay. Be safe.”_

“You, too. Love you.” He turned off the phone and stuffed it in his back pocket just as the office door opened.

Jeff poked his head out, the light shining off the top of his shiny brown pate. “Roy, you still here?”

Roy Baker smiled back. “Yeah, boss. Just finishing up that last oil change.”

“Well hurry up. It’s getting late, and I know it’s your night to visit your grandma.”

Roy grinned, pleased that Jeff had remembered. “Thanks boss. Will do.”

Jeff nodded and went back into the office. Tom let the grin drop off his face and took a couple of deep breaths, resettling himself into Roy Baker until the fit felt natural again.

Then Roy went back to the truck and got to work.

~~~

Arlene Guthrie was one hell of a woman and deserved a hell of a lot more than getting stuck in a shared room in a charity-run nursing home in Palymra, Pennsylvania. She was Roy’s favorite grandma, and he’d been crushed to learn that she’d been struck with dementia. The fact that some asshole had taken advantage of her illness and stolen most of her life savings – Roy couldn’t even think about that without getting pissed off.

(The truth was that the original Roy Baker had been the one to steal his grandma’s savings and was currently sitting in a jail in upstate New York for the crime. Thanks to one of Reddington’s hackers, however, the Roy Baker in New York was now named Harry Butts and his sentence had been tripled. According to Reddington, the hacker really liked grandmas. Tom didn’t have especially strong feelings about grandmas as a whole, but he’d already decided that if Arlene was still alive after this mission, he’d get her moved somewhere better. She deserved it. After all, without her this mission wouldn’t have even a chance of success.)

Roy poked his head in Arlene’s room and found her alone, which was a relief. Arlene’s roommate was a sharp old biddy, and usually spent most of Roy’s visits staring at him in undisguised suspicion.

Arlene, on the other hand, just looked wistfully muddled when he stepped into the room. “Who are you?”

“Just a visitor.” Roy’d learned the hard way not to try and convince her he was actually Roy Baker. Arlene had a surprisingly strong throwing arm for her age. “I thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing.”

Arlene smiled. “That’s nice. You’re a nice boy.”

He really wasn’t, but Roy couldn’t deny that he liked it when she said that and he moved to the other armchair in the room and settled down to listen as Arlene spun stories from her past.

~~~

Coming back from the nursing home, Roy found himself stuck in the perpetual traffic jam that was downtown Hershey. As he inched his way past the street lights with their novelty Hershey Kiss light caps, he breathed in the scent of melted chocolate and decided that this wasn’t a terrible place to be. His boss was nice and gave him extra hours to help pay for Grandma’s medical bills, his apartment was pretty good, and when the wind blew right, he got to smell melted chocolate all around town.

Life was good for Roy Baker.

(In the back of Roy’s mind, Tom Keen sat and waited and counted the days to the next step in his mission.)


	38. Meet the Mark

Two days later it snowed and Roy left his apartment half an hour late.

His timing was near perfect – he only had to pass two cars before he found himself behind a beige Toyota Camry, the color nearly buried under a coating of dirty street salt. Roy edged in closer than he normally would in weather like this and waited.

It took two lights before they hit one that was red. He slammed on the brakes a second too late and immediately skidded right into the Camry.

Swearing under his breath, Roy wrenched the door open and ran to the driver’s side door of the Camry, where a chunky woman with bright red hair was staring at her steering wheel with a traumatized expression. “Hey,” Roy called through the window. “Are you all right?”

The woman turned to look at him and in the back of his mind, Tom Keen noted that Amelia Eichhart had gained a couple of pounds since the picture in Mr. Kaplan’s file. Roy Baker noted that the woman looked really worried for a fender bender and repeated, “Are you okay?”

She shook her head and then turned it into a nod. Roy stood there helplessly, not sure what to do.

Finally the woman rolled down her window. “Sorry. I’m fine. I just... I’ve never been in a car accident before.”

“I’m so sorry,” Roy said, almost babbling in his nervousness. “It’s my fault, but I was running late for work and I need the money because my grandma’s in a nursing home and... shit.” He looked away, ashamed. “I don’t have insurance.”

Roy’s nervousness seemed to calm the woman down. “It’s okay,” she said, climbing out of the car. “I mean, it’s not that bad, right?”

They both looked at the deep dent in the back bumper of the car.

“See, it’s nothing,” the woman said. “Probably less than a hundred bucks, right?”

Wow. Apparently she never had been in an accident before. Roy scratched the back of his head, then sighed. “Listen, have you ever heard of Jeff’s Full Service Auto?”

The woman’s brief moment of confidence faded into suspicion. “That’s where I got my oil changed.”

“Oh, well. That’s good. I work there. Jeff’s really nice; he’ll let me work on your car there and it won’t cost you anything.”

If anything, the woman looked even more suspicious.

“Um... he could vouch for me? I’m Roy Baker. If you want to call him, he’ll tell you I’m okay.”

The woman stared at him a moment longer, reminding Roy of his grandma’s scary roommate, before pulling out her cell phone. She looked pointedly at Roy.

“I’ll... go wait by my car,” he offered.

Retreating a few feet away, Roy watched as the woman made the call. She seemed calm enough when talking to Jeff – of course she did, everyone liked Jeff – but as soon as her phone was tucked away, she got nervously suspicious again.

(Tom Keen recognized this as a sign of physical attraction. It hit some women this way, especially the ones who didn’t experience it very often. Normally attraction would make things easier, but for a woman like Amelia it could be a terrifying social minefield, best avoided at all costs. As if his job wasn’t fucking hard enough.)

Roy Baker smiled hopefully. “What’d he say?”

“He said that you weren’t dangerous and that it would be okay for you to take the car to his shop.” She hesitated, then held out her hand. “I’m Amelia Eichhart.”

Roy brightened and took her hand. “Like that lady who flew around the world!”

Amelia looked pained. “That’s Amelia Earhart.”

“Oh. Well, I was close.”

She mustered a not-very-enthusiastic smile. (Tom guessed she got the Amelia Earhart joke a lot.) “So Jeff said he’d send the tow truck.”

Roy frowned. “Both of these cars are safe to drive. I don’t think mine even got a dent.”

They looked at his Jeep, which was without a scratch. Well, at least without new scratches. It’d been pretty battered when he bought it.

“Great,” Amelia muttered, staring at her own car, which would, at the very least, need a new back bumper panel. “I’m going to call a taxi.”

Roy stared at her. “In this weather?”

She stared back. “What?”

Roy shrugged uncomfortably. “There’s only a couple of taxis in town, and they’re probably booked up till tomorrow.”

Amelia chewed on her lip, her annoyance gone and the nervousness back. “Maybe the tow truck can give me a lift.” She must’ve caught Roy’s incredulous expression, because she added, “I don’t drive much anyway and after this... I don’t think I’m going to be ready to get behind the wheel for a few days.”

“Oh.” Roy scratched the back of his head. “Where are you headed? Maybe I could give you a ride?” When Amelia looked suspicious, he sighed. “Didn’t Jeff say I was okay?”

“He did, but...” She shook her head, visibly shaking off her concern. “I work at Hershey.”

“Which plant?” Roy asked automatically. There were several Hershey factories in town.

“Technical.” Off Roy’s confused look – he’d never heard of a technical plant – she added, “Next to Friendly’s.”

“I can have you to Friendy’s in five minutes,” Roy promised. “I’ll just call Jeff and let him know we’re leaving. And maybe I’ll drive your car onto the shoulder before someone gets road rage and kills us.”

Amelia looked at the long line of cars that had piled up as people inched around their accident, winced, and nodded.

A few minutes later they were back on the road, Amelia clutching her seat belt like it was the only thing keeping her from hurtling through the windshield. Roy watched her out the side of his eye and dropped his speed by another mile or two. Much lower and he’d be causing an accident for being too slow. 

“So, first accident, huh? You must be a great driver.”

Amelia huffed out an amused-sounding breath, but didn’t let up on the seat belt stranglehold. “Not really. Up into a few months ago, I lived in a big city. Mostly I used public transportation.”

“Really? What brings you to Hershey, PA?”

Now Amelia was looking suspicious again. Roy bit his lip. “Only if you want to talk about it, of course.”

“I got a job with Hershey,” she finally said.

Roy nodded slowly, feeling more than a little confused at how suspicious she was being. 

(Tom noted that General Eichhart clearly didn’t do a damn thing to prepare his kids for subterfuge. For Christ’s sake, Amelia was still using her real name!)

“Do you like it there?” he asked cautiously.

“For the most part. I get to try new candy before it’s on the market, which is fun. There’s unlimited free candy at the break stations, which isn’t the best.”

“Why not?” Roy asked, carefully turning onto the road toward Friendly’s. “And is this your road?” he added, pointing to the frontage road that went back a bit until it reached a boxy building with a parking lot. It was really the only option, unless the Friendly’s was hiding a candy factory in its kitchen.

“Yeah,” she said. “And it’s not like the candy is bad, but my waistline would disagree.”

(In the back of Roy’s mind, Tom Keen cheered. An opening!)

Roy shuffled a little in his seat before saying shyly, “I think your waistline looks okay. I mean, you’re pretty.”

Now Amelia looked suspicious again.

(Goddamn wallflowers. At this rate Tom was never going to get back to Liz.)

“Anyway,” Roy said hastily, trying to cover over the awkward moment. “I guess we’re here. Um, if you’d like, I can give you a ride home.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be renting a car,” Amelia said firmly.

That was a waste of money, but Roy figured he’d pushed hard enough already. “Okay. Have a good day at work?”

“Thanks.” Amelia slammed the door behind her and picked her way to the safety of the salted sidewalk.

Roy watched to make sure she got there safely and then put the car back in drive with a sigh.

That could have gone better.


	39. Improvisation

Roy spent most of the day working on Amelia’s car. Jeff stopped by a couple of times, looking conflicted – on the one hand, they both knew that Roy needed to get paid for his grandma’s sake, but on the other hand they both knew that this was entirely Roy’s fault and that there wasn’t any money coming in for the work. In the end, Jeff slapped Roy on the shoulder and said, “I’ll pay you for the labor, but the parts are on you. Don’t put me in this position again.”

“Thanks, boss,” Roy said, feeling utterly relieved, and went back to replacing the brackets that would hold the new panel in place. The panel itself wouldn’t arrive for a couple of days, but it would be worth the wait because it was already painted the right color so they wouldn’t have to send the car out to Jeff’s paint guy. Roy didn’t think he’d have been able to cover that cost.

After work, he headed to the nursing home, feeling rather excited about this visit. He couldn’t wait to tell Grandma about Amelia.

One of the nurses stopped him just inside the door. “Mr. Baker. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Ten minutes later, Roy Baker slid into his Jeep and shut the door.

Tom Keen spent the next minute swearing under his breath. Then he pulled out his phone.

_“Yes?”_

“Arlene Guthrie is dead.”

Reddington swore. _“Smithson assured me she’d last until spring.”_

“I guess when you’re 95, you don’t really care about someone else’s schedule.”

_“Admittedly true. Does this mean you need a new identity?”_

“No. I’m already in. I made contact this morning.”

_“Unfortunate timing.”_

“No shit.” Tom sighed. “I’m probably going to need additional support. Is Dembe—”

_“Unavailable, I’m afraid, as is Mr. Kaplan. One of the Cabal’s troubleshooters is attempting a powerplay. Dembe and Mr. Kaplan are busy containing the situation.”_

Tom hesitated. He knew Reddington had other people, but he wasn’t as confident of them has he was of Dembe and Mr. Kaplan. Considering the caliber of the Cowboy and Tom Keen’s brother, Tom would probably be best working alone. He swore again and changed the subject. “How’s Liz?”

_“She’s fine. We just got back from Iowa.”_

Tom twisted his lips up into a tight smile and resolutely refused to satisfy Reddington by asking why they were in Iowa. “She says you have a plan.”

_“I do.”_

Tom huffed out a reluctant laugh. Yeah, Reddington was still a dick. “Can you at least give me a timeframe? I don’t want to push Amelia unless I have to. She’s skittish and I can’t guarantee her response.”

_“I don’t know the timeframe yet. Proceed on your original schedule. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”_

The original schedule had depended on Arlene, but Tom didn’t bother saying so. “Keep Liz safe.”

Reddington just hung up.

Dick.

~~~

Roy was in a daze most of the next day, until Jeff offered to send him home. “No, I’m fine,” Roy said. Jeff looked dubious. “I need to work,” Roy said more honestly, and that seemed to do the trick.

Amelia called about her car that afternoon. Jeff took the call. (For the best, Tom had to admit. Grief was a difficult role to play – everyone interpreted it differently. He did hear Jeff mention that Roy’s grandmother had died, which was helpful.)

The next day, Amelia came by to pick up the car and Roy was waiting for her. Roy wondered if it was his imagination that Amelia looked a little more dressed up than last time.

(It wasn’t. Apparently Amelia had found some confidence somewhere, for which Tom was grateful.)

“I was sorry to hear about your grandmother,” she said.

The excitement that Roy had felt when he saw Amelia faded. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath and managed a smile. “But at least I got to see her again. This last month – it’s been really good.”

“Good. That’s good.”

They stood awkwardly for a minute or two.

“About my car...”

“Would you like to get dinner?” Roy blurted out. Amelia looked shocked. “Or lunch.” The shocked look didn’t change. “Coffee?”

“Dinner! Uh, dinner would be good.”

Roy smiled genuinely for the first time in what felt like forever. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.”

“Okay. Okay.” Roy tried to tone his smile down. “Can I get your number?”

~~~

It went slow. Really, really fucking slow. Roy didn’t mind – he was still amazed that such a smart, pretty girl would agree to go out with him, much less like him as much as she seemed to.

Tom Keen, on the other hand, was seething with impatience. It wasn’t even until the third date that Roy attempted a kiss. By the end of Tom’s third date with Liz, they’d had sex twice. By the time Roy managed sex twice with Amelia, they were probably going to be married.

It took two weeks to get to that third date, which meant two phone calls with Liz. He heard about what happened in Iowa and how close the FBI got to Liz and Reddington.

Tom really hated the dick from Germany.

Then _Reddington_ took Liz _to an FBI agent’s house_. Fucking Reddington. Much more of this and Tom was going to abandon this shit mission and go back to protecting Liz in person.

And then he walked into the shop to hear that one of the FBI’s most wanted fugitives had been killed.

Tom stood there in shock. Roy Baker was gone. Just. Gone. If Liz was dead – fuck. Liz couldn’t be dead.

“Gotta piss,” he said to no one in particular and bolted for the restroom.

 _“I’m fine,”_ were the first words out of Liz’s mouth.

Tom slumped hard against the painted concrete wall of the bathroom. “Liz. You’re alive.”

 _“I’m fine,”_ Liz repeated. _“It’s complicated and we had to fake my death, but I’m fine.”_

Tom rubbed a face over his hand. “Thank Christ.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I love you.”

_“I love you, too.”_

Tom was silent for a long minute, just savoring the feeling the words gave him, savoring the fact that Liz was still alive.

 _“Where are you?”_ Liz asked. _“Is it safe for you to be talking to me right now?”_

“Probably not,” Tom said with a humorless laugh. “I just... I just need you to stay safe, Liz. You understand me? You have to stay safe.”

There was a long pause. _“Tom—”_

“Liz... I don’t care if you have to lie. Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

Liz sighed. _“I promise.”_

It was a lie. “Yeah. I gotta go. Love you, Liz.”

 _“Love you, too.”_ Her voice was soft, gentle.

Tom hung up, shoved his phone in his pocket, and dragged on his Roy Baker persona. It was more difficult than usual, and it didn’t feel quite right, like something had gone wrong with the fit.

Nothing he could do for it now, though, so Tom took a deep breath, let it out as Roy Baker and stepped back into the shop.

No one seemed to notice his odd behavior before he went into the restroom. Roy smiled at Jeff, settled under the nearest truck and let his mind go blank.

~~~

The problem was, Amelia wasn’t a challenge. Sure, she was slow and cautious, but she wasn’t _difficult_. Meet up for some form of food consumption or entertainment, offer up one or two facts from Roy Baker’s carefully memorized background (the same as the real Roy Baker’s background, minus the criminal acts), and then nudge Amelia to take over the conversation for the rest of the evening. Rinse and repeat and repeat and repeat.

Amelia Eichhart was a very nice woman who didn’t deserve a dad like General Eichhart. That didn’t make her interesting.

At least not until she introduced Roy to her brother. Oliver Eichhart was tall, strikingly handsome, and he looked at his sister’s mechanic boyfriend with sneering contempt.

Tom was thrilled. He hadn’t had a chance to truly fuck with someone’s mind for _months_.

According to Mr. Kaplan’s file, since moving to rural Pennsylvania, Oliver Eichhart had been driving to Philadephia every couple of weeks to relive some tension. The file was very explicit on Oliver’s taste. He topped, exclusively, usually with much smaller partners.

The second time Oliver looked at Roy like he was a piece of shit on the bottom of Oliver’s shoe, Tom decided that he wasn’t going to be satisfied if this didn’t end with Oliver on his knees, sucking Tom off.

He figured, under the circumstances, Liz would agree that it was necessary.

So he waited until Amelia went to the bathroom and turned to Oliver, letting a bit of Tom Keen slip through. He looked Oliver over quickly, pausing briefly at Oliver’s groin.

When he got back to the face, Oliver was looking smug at having caught the eye of his sister’s boyfriend and he reached out to grab Roy’s shoulder just a bit too firmly to be comfortable. There would be bruises on that shoulder in the morning.

Tom smiled back through Roy’s lips and started making plans.


	40. Oliver Eichhart

“I’m so glad you decided to stay in Hershey,” Amelia said as she scraped up the last bite of salad on her plate and licked her fork clean. “I thought... I thought you might go back to South Carolina after your grandmother died.”

Roy shrugged and poked at his steak. He could afford it, now that he didn’t have to take care of his grandma’s bills anymore, but every time he tried to take a bite, he remembered that she was gone. “You want some of this?”

Amelia hesitated for a second, then nodded. Roy watched as she wolfed the steak down and swallowed a sigh. It was ridiculous that she kept ordering salads when they always left her hungry at the end of the meal.

Amelia glanced up and Roy hastily put a smile on his face. She smiled back and sawed into the last of the meat and Roy’s smile slipped away again.

(For some reason it was harder for Tom to stay in character since Arlene’s death. Maybe because Arlene had been the only real connection Tom had to Roy Baker. Maybe because he’d genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. Maybe because the more time he spent with Amelia, the more he missed Liz. Whatever the reason, it was becoming a problem.)

With a satisfied sigh, Amelia pushed her plate away. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” The fake smile was starting to strain Roy’s cheeks, so he quickly added, “How are things going at work?”

Amelia blushed and glanced around the restaurant. No one was sitting near them, but she still leaned in and whispered, “You know I’m not supposed to talk to you about that.”

Roy leaned in as well and murmured, “Who am I going to tell?” He followed that up with a warm smile and a hand delicately placed over Amelia’s.

As she had the last couple of times since he’d discovered this trick, Amelia promptly melted into a puddle of goo. “I guess that’s true.” She hesitated a second longer and then whispered, “Have you ever tried our Symphony bars? Because we’re working on something even _better_.”

Roy’s eyes widened with amazement. “Really? Like what?”

(In the back of Roy’s mind, Tom crowed. Not about the chocolate; he didn’t give a shit about Hershey’s chocolate. Amelia Eichhart giving up corporate research, on the other hand? Worth every fucking day of the previous five months.)

~~~

Tom was still riding a wave of elation as he ran up the stairs to his apartment. After nearly three months of soothing, sweet-talking, and wooing, Amelia was finally starting to give up her secrets. A little bit of innocent industrial espionage was just the start. It couldn’t be too much longer before, just as innocently, she gave up the location of her father.

In the meantime, Tom was expecting a visitor, which meant he had to get into the headspace of the Tom/Roy hybrid that had been working on Oliver Eichhart for the last couple of months. Oliver... well, Oliver was proving both easier and more difficult than Amelia.

On the easy side, Oliver was a classic case of overcompensation. The very first time he’d tried to forcibly top Tom, Tom had put him on his knees. By the end of the fight Oliver was so hard he was straining his zipper.

Forcing Oliver to masturbate at gunpoint? Just sealed the deal.

On the difficult side, it turned out that Tom was no more turned on by men or by domination than he had been as a teenager, which presented an enormous complication. So far Tom had been able to string Oliver along with humiliation and the occasional handjob, but at some point Tom was going to have to manage an erection.

Hard to imagine what was worse: risking shady online Viagra knock-offs, or asking Reddington for a hookup.

He was still debating that horrifying choice when he opened the door to his apartment – really just a single room above a garage – and found himself looking down the barrel of a gun.

He’d just started putting up his hands when the gun lowered and a familiar voice whispered, “Thank God.”

Tom’s heart skipped a beat before starting up again at a punishing pace. He quickly shut the door behind him before whispering back, “Liz? What are you doing here?”

A weary chuckle came out of the darkness. “Roy Baker really doesn’t watch the news, does he?” She sighed. “Reddington’s been captured.”

Tom stared at the splotch of inky darkness that was Liz, not quite sure what he was feeling. He would’ve expected to feel relief, maybe even satisfaction, and those emotions were certainly there, but they were covered by a surprisingly thick layer of fear.

Reddington was the only person in the world who cared about Liz as much as Tom.

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Liz said. She stepped forward and leaned into Tom. Tom wrapped his arms around her and held her as tight as he dared. “It started with Red getting kidnapped. It ended with an ambush.” She shuddered. “I was nearly caught. If Red hadn’t driven a truck into the police blockade...” She shook her head. “He was captured because of me.”

“That was his choice.”

“No, it wasn’t. There was no way he could’ve known the police were there.”

“Stumbling into a police blockade doesn’t sound much like Reddington.”

Liz sighed and stepped away. Tom clenched his hands into fists to keep from pulling her back. “He had just been kidnapped,” she said.

“That doesn’t sound much like Reddington either,” Tom admitted. “What the hell have you two been up to?”

“I still don’t know. All I know is there’s a briefcase. And a couple of frozen thumbs.”

Tom opened his mouth, then decided he didn’t want to know. “What about Dembe and Mr. Kaplan?”

“They got Dembe, too. Not Mr. Kaplan.”

Tom relaxed. “Reddington will be fine. He might be free already.”

“You think so? It wasn’t on the news.”

“I’m pretty sure Reddington getting captured wasn’t on the news either. Roy may not watch the news, but everyone else at the garage does and they’ve been following the Reddington story. If they’d managed to get Reddington to a prison, any prison, it would’ve hit the news by now.”

Liz let out a long breath. “Okay. That’s good. That’s good.”

Fuck it, it’d been five months. Tom reached out for Liz again and his heart leapt when she hugged him back. “I’m so glad to see you,” he breathed.

“Me, too,” she whispered, “though I know it’s going to make things difficult.”

Tom would’ve liked to deny the difficulties, but there was no point in lying. Oliver was due any minute. “Totally worth it.” He hesitated. “How long can you stay?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure what I’m doing next. Reddington’s phone’s been compromised. Mine’s long gone. There’s no way for me to contact Reddington unless he thinks to call you.”

Tom figured it would take less than a day for Reddington to call, unless Mr. Kaplan had Reddington under lockdown.

Unfortunately, that clock just kept ticking away in the back of Tom’s mind and as much as he was enjoying having Liz in his arms again, he wasn’t about to throw out the last five months. Not when he was so close to securing Liz’s safety.

“We’re going to have to hide you,” he said, stepping back. “I’m expecting company.”

“Amelia Eichhart?” Liz asked, and the jealousy in her voice warmed Tom to the core.

“Worse. Oliver.” His lips twisted. “You’re probably going to get a show.”

There was a pause before Liz asked, “You’re going to have sex with him?” Her tone was flat.

“Not like you’re imagining,” Tom said. “Turns out I’m still not gay. Can’t get it up for him.”

“Then what—”

There was a knock at the door.

Tom swore. “Quick, get on the floor.” He gave her a second to do so, then turned on the light, just as there was a second knock on his door, this one louder. “ _One second_ ,” he shouted before leaning down to whisper to Liz, “Under the bed.”

She moved quickly, rolling silently in the direction of the bed, carefully avoiding the few pieces of furniture along the way. As soon as she was out of sight, Tom rumpled the blanket and sheets so that they were partially hanging over the end, casting the space below the bed in shadow.

On the third knock, Tom let himself sink into character. Gritting his teeth, he ripped the door open and snarled, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

On the doorstep, Oliver lowered his hand, looking startled. “I thought...”

“I don’t give a shit what you think.” Tom eyed Oliver slowly, letting the silence stretch out before adding, “Strip.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped slightly. “What?”

“Are you deaf? I said _strip_.”

“But...”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’ve got two options. Get naked, or get gone.”

Oliver hesitated a moment longer, then started undressing. His hands were shaking so much he fumbled the buttons.

While Oliver was distracted by his clothes, Tom snuck a quick glance outside. As usual, there was no one in sight. It helped that his landing was mostly blocked from ground view by a large oak; the only person who could see his apartment door was the man who lived in the main house and he was a truck driver who was out of town more often than not.

“Roy?”

Tom turned his attention back to Oliver, who was naked and trembling slightly. His cock was already half hard.

“Hands and knees,” Tom said and stepped back to allow Oliver to crawl into the apartment. As soon as Oliver was inside, Tom closed the door, leaving Oliver’s clothes outside.

“What now?”

“Kneel at the foot of the bed, facing the room.”

Oliver obliged and opened his mouth.

“No more talking. Not until I say otherwise.”

Oliver snapped his mouth shut.

Tom eyed him. “Hands behind your back. I don’t want you touching yourself.”

Olive swallowed hard and shifted his hands behind his back.

“Good. Stay like that until I’m ready for you.”

Tom turned away and let out a silent breath. This was miserable, but he couldn’t risk a change in his routine. Oliver usually spent at least half an hour in Tom’s apartment. The specifics of what happened changed with every visit, but the time was consistent.

Which meant Tom had thirty minutes to kill.

Thirty minutes to kill, with Liz listening to every word.

For the first time in one of these sessions with Oliver, Tom felt his cock start to get hard.

Huh. This had promise.

He spent the next thirty minutes completely ignoring Oliver as he washed a day’s worth of dishes, took a shower with the bathroom door open, and even did a bit of dusting. By the time Tom got bored with cleaning, Oliver’s cock was rock hard and weeping.

More surprising was Tom’s cock, which was pressing against the fly of his jeans. Tom moved to stand in front of Oliver and, after a moment of consideration, he unzipped his pants.

Oliver’s eyes widened as Tom pulled himself free. Tom had never let Oliver see his cock before.

“Open your mouth,” Tom said, hoarsely.

Oliver opened his mouth, his eyes locked on Tom’s cock. He licked his lips and then glanced up at Tom.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Tom said with a sneer. “You haven’t earned the right to suck my cock yet.”

With that, Tom took himself in hand.

Though he kept his eyes on Oliver as he jerked himself, Tom’s whole attention was on the silent shadow under his bed, where he knew Liz was watching. The very thought of that, of the weight of Liz’s eyes on his skin, was enough to get him to the edge. “Put out your tongue,” Tom panted as he felt himself get close.

Oliver stuck out his tongue and tilted his head back. A second later Tom came, striping Oliver’s face in semen.

Oliver shuddered. “Please. Please, let me—”

Normally Tom would’ve shut Oliver down about speaking without permission, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not with Liz right there under the bed, where she could hear him aping the words that she’d used so effectively on him. “You have thirty seconds,” he said instead.

Oliver managed to finish himself off in twelve. Without even waiting for the order, he bent down and licked his own come off the floor.

Tom smirked at the sight, but merely said, “Time’s up. Get out.”

Without a word, Oliver stood up and stepped outside, stumbling slightly over the pile of clothes on the landing. Tom shut the door and flipped off the porch light. It’d make it harder for Oliver to see while getting dressed, and also help hide him from the neighbors. Win-win.

Moving to the north wall, he cracked the blinds and watched the sidewalk that led past the main house and to the street.

“Tom?” Liz whispered from under the bed.

“Shh,” Tom whispered back. “He’s not gone yet.”

In fact, it took several minutes for Oliver to finally appear on the sidewalk. That sometimes happened; these sessions occasionally put Oliver in an altered mental state, and he’d need a few minutes to put himself together.

If this was a real, healthy relationship, it would Tom’s job to help Oliver recover. Unfortunately for Oliver, this relationship was neither real nor healthy and, after some of the shit he’d seen in Oliver’s file, Tom wasn’t going to shed any tears over Oliver’s mental state. Certainly the boys in Oliver’s old stomping-grounds were reaping the benefits; as far as Tom could tell, Oliver hadn’t sexually assaulted anyone since his failed attempt at raping Tom had ended with Oliver on his knees.

Putting Oliver out of his mind, Tom stepped back from the window and let the blinds fall shut. “Okay, it’s safe to talk. You’ll have to stay on the floor, though.”

“I know,” Liz said, pulling herself out from under the bed and rolling her eyes. “We don’t want anyone to see my silhouette. I have done this sort of thing before, you know.”

Tom winced. “Sorry. It’s been a long few months.”

Liz’s expression softened. “Yeah, it has.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Though you seem to have been keeping yourself busy. What the hell was that?”

“That was an asshole getting what he deserved,” Tom said flatly. “Mr. Kaplan’s file said Oliver Eichhart liked rough sex. It didn’t mention that he liked it even more when it was non-consensual.”

“So you’re taking revenge?”

“I’m performing a public service.”

Liz made a noncommittal noise. “I thought you said you couldn’t get hard for him.”

“I can’t. You, on the other hand...”

She laughed incredulously. “You’re saying that scene was about me?”

“Well, probably not for Oliver. For me, though, it was all about you.”

Liz looked surprised, and the amusement on her face faded. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Tom smiled ruefully and slid down to sit next her, his back against the side of the bed. “That’s fair. I’m not sure how I feel about it either.”

They sat silently for a few minutes. Tom didn’t know what Liz was thinking, but for his part he was content to just sit next to her, close enough for their shoulders to touch and for him to breathe in her scent. With Liz at his side, it was easy to ignore the way his thoughts were tangling together in his mind.

“Shit,” Liz finally said. “I don’t know what to do next.” She sighed and rested her head on Tom’s shoulder. “Do you think I should go back to Reddington?”

“No,” Tom said instantly. A moment later the knotted mass of thoughts finally pressed themselves to the front of his mind, coalesced into an idea. A plan, in fact, one that was stunning in its shining simplicity. “No,” he said again. “I need you here.”

“Yeah?” Liz said, glancing over.

“Yeah. I have a plan.”


	41. Rising Action

Tom woke up to find Liz watching him. “Hey,” he said softly, his chest bubbling with warmth.

“Hey back.” Liz smiled. “I was going to offer some more of what we had last night, but you’re cutting it close if you’re going to get to work on time.”

Tom smiled at the memory. They hadn’t done anything fancy, but just having his hands on Liz after months without made it a night to remember. “Roy Baker doesn’t do a lot of primping in the morning.”

“I noticed.” Liz smirked. “I also remember how you used to have more hair care products than I did.”

“Hey, not all of us can make generic shampoo and a blow dry look good.” He reached up and ran his fingers through Liz’s blonde locks. They still looked wrong to him. “Buying the good stuff for your new look?”

Liz wrinkled her nose. “It’s a disguise, not a fashion statement.”

Tom eyed her skeptically.

“What?”

“That ‘disguise’, if you want to call it that, isn’t going to fool Amelia. Even if you hadn’t already been seen on national television with blonde hair.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Let me guess – you’ve got some ideas.”

“Lots of them. But they’re going to have to wait. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late for work.”

It looked like Liz was considering protesting, but fortunately she just rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Tom was grateful; aside from the time he hit Amelia’s car, Roy’d never been late to work and now was not the time to start deviating from his carefully cultivated habits.

“You should be fine in here today,” Tom added as he pulled on his clothes. “I always keep the blinds shut, so you can move around until nightfall.”

Liz frowned. “How late will you be back?”

“Pretty late. I have a date with Amelia tonight.”

Liz’s frown turned into a scowl. “Are you having sex with her, too?”

“I don’t really consider what Oliver and I do ‘sex’,” Tom said. “And Amelia and I aren’t physical at all. She’s waiting for marriage.”

“Oh,” Liz said, sounding relieved.

Tom couldn’t help but smile at that and he leaned over the bed to give her a quick kiss before heading to the door.

“Love you,” he said, his hand on the handle.

“Love you, too,” she answered.

Tom’s cheeks hurt with the size of his grin as he locked his door and headed downstairs. No matter how many times he heard the words, they still got to him. He was never taking Liz’s love for granted again.

~~~

Three days later, Roy Baker found himself at a bar, being hit on by a gorgeous woman with a couple dozen piercings, black nail polish, and jet black hair that was long enough to brush the top of her barely-covered ass. The dress was skirting the edge of indecency on the top as well, and Tom, in the back of Roy’s mind, was highly aware of the fact that every guy in the bar was staring at Roy in envy.

Roy, on the other hand, was squirming with discomfort, and he couldn’t help but keep looking at the door, where Amelia was scheduled to walk in at any minute.

“Relax,” the woman next to him murmured. “I’ll let you know when she comes in.”

“Roy isn’t about to relax in a situation like this,” Tom whispered back. “And, for the love of god, will you get your hand out of my lap? I’m having a tough enough time staying in character as it is.”

Liz smirked and shifted her hand to Tom’s knee. “And I thought you were supposed to be a professional.”

“There’s not a damn thing professional about what you’re doing to my leg.” Tom took a deep breath and focused on banking his arousal. Discomfort. That’s what Roy would be feeling. _Discomfort._

Thankfully, Liz took her hand off of Tom’s leg to take a sip of her drink. “Are you sure no one will recognize me like this?”

Tom let out a soft, relieved sigh. “Trust me, babe. No one in this bar is looking at your face.”

Liz opened her mouth, then stiffened slightly. “She’s here,” she murmured, her hand suddenly back on Tom’s knee.

Tom quickly buried himself back in Roy’s personality, and the hand on his leg, which had been intensely arousing a minute ago, suddenly felt intrusive. He brushed the hand off and hissed, loud enough for the people sitting a few stools away to hear, “Seriously, lady, I’m not interested.”

Roy glanced at the door again, and tensed at the sight of Amelia just inside the door, looking devastated.

Abandoning the pushy bimbo at the bar, Roy hurried over to Amelia. “Hey, honey. I was starting to worry about you.”

“I can see that,” she spat back venomously.

Roy stared at her. “What?” he said blankly.

Amelia’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I’m sorry to have interrupted.” She turned and pushed her way back out of the bar before Roy realized what was happening.

Swearing, Roy ran to the bar, tossed a couple of bills to cover the tab – Tom hadn’t anticipated Amelia being quite so quick on the trigger – and rushed back outside.

He found Amelia scrambling in the dirt for her keys and took a quick, relieved breath. “Amelia, are you okay? Why did you leave?”

Amelia stood up with keys in hand and sniffed. “What, was I supposed to wait around for the show?”

“What show? Honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about that fucking cunt at the bar!”

Roy blinked; he’d never heard Amelia use language like that before. Normally she’d blush if a “damn” slipped out. “You mean the woman who was hitting on me?”

Amelia let out an incredulous noise that landed somewhere between a snort and a scream.

Shit. This was going off the rails, fast. “Amelia, baby, you have to believe me. I’m not interested in girls like that.”

“Right, because everyone knows guys hate girls that are skinny, sexy, and half-dressed.”

“Who cares about what other guys think? All I care about is you.” He paused, feeling the lump in his pocket. He’d planned to save it for a little bit later, but at the rate this was going, later might not be an option. “If you don’t believe me, I can prove it.”

Amelia just snorted and crossed her arms.

Roy dug into his pocket and pulled out the box before awkwardly going down on one knee. The dirt and gravel parking lot was probably the worst possibly location for this sort of thing, but he stubbornly ignored the rock that was digging into his kneecap and held the box forward in one hand.

Amelia had gone stock still, her arms fallen down to her sides.

“I’ve been holding onto this for a while now,” Roy admitted, feeling a bit shy now that the time came. “I know you’ll think I’m old fashioned, but I was hoping to... well, never mind. It’s not important now.” He took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

Amelia’s eyes were full of tears again, but this time the tears didn’t look like tears of rage. “What?” she whispered.

Roy gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the way his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest. “Will you marry me?” he repeated. Since she still looked a little shell-shocked, he went for the (hopefully charmed) third try. “Amelia Eichhart, will you marry me?”

Her face crumpled up in a sob and Roy’s heart sank.

Then she beamed at him through the tears and said, “Yes.”

Roy leapt up and pulled her into his arms, his whole body singing with joy.

~~~

They abandoned their dinner plans; Amelia said she was too happy to eat, and Roy didn’t have it in him to deny her anything. Not after she said yes.

They ended up at her apartment. It wasn’t the first time Roy had been inside the apartment, but it was the first time that he’d been invited for an extended stay.

(Internally, Tom started preparing strategic plans, just in case Amelia decided to loosen her whole “no sex before marriage” rule. Liz’s guidelines made the whole thing more complicated, but Roy conveniently didn’t carry condoms in his wallet and he doubted Amelia just had them lying around. That would give him enough to work with.)

As they cuddled on the couch, with hands carefully limited to PG-rated areas, Amelia suddenly asked, “What were you hoping for?”

“Hm?” Roy asked, reclaiming his brain from Tom’s planning. “What do you mean?”

(Internally, Tom was smugly certain that he knew _exactly_ what Amelia meant.)

“Back when you proposed,” Amelia said, blushing prettily. “You said that you were old fashioned and that you hoped for something.”

“Oh,” Roy said, looking aside. “You’re going to think I’m ridiculous.”

“Never,” Amelia said fondly.

Roy let out a quiet breath. “I was going to ask your dad for permission.”

Amelia went very still. “You know my dad?”

“No, of course not,” Roy said. “But I assumed you’d introduce us at some point. I figured that was when I’d know you'd be ready to get engaged. Plus, I think it’s respectful to ask.”

Amelia managed a smile, though it looked a bit wobbly. “Probably this makes me a terrible feminist, but that sounds really nice.”

“Yeah?” Roy said hopefully. “Does that mean you’ll introduce us? Because I don’t think I could marry you without having met any of your family.”

“You could meet them at the wedding,” Amelia offered.

Roy let the horror on his face speak for itself.

Amelia chuckled. “You’re right, bad idea.” She sobered. “It’s a little complicated, though. My dad – he’s not someone I can just stop in to visit. We’ll have to schedule something. It might take a few days.”

Roy just smiled and pulled her a bit closer to his side. “For you, Amelia, I’d wait forever.”


	42. Climax

“Did it work?” Liz asked, the moment Tom let himself into the apartment.

“I think so. Amelia’s planning to introduce me to him, at least.”

Liz slumped back against the side of the bed. “Oh, thank god. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay in this room without going nuts.”

Tom slid down to sit next to Liz. “You had a field trip just a few hours ago.”

Liz lifted an eyebrow. “Shockingly, slutting it up in a bar full of horny men isn’t my idea of a good time.”

Tom tensed. “Did you have any problems getting out after I left?”

“None that a gun didn’t solve.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Liz.”

“Don’t be. It’s worth it if it gets us to Eichhart.” She sighed. “I feel like we’ve been fighting the fucking Cabal forever.”

“I know how you feel.” This assignment was neither Tom’s longest, nor his most difficult, but it _dragged_ in a way that made it feel like he’d been working it for years. “Any word from Reddington?”

“Still nothing yet.” Liz knocked her head back against the side of the mattress.

“I wouldn’t worry. He’s probably being extra cautious because of how close we are. Now’s not a good time to break radio silence, not with Eichhart just a few days away.”

Liz turned her head and stared at Tom. “Are you sure he wasn’t arrested?”

“Trust me, Liz, if he’d been arrested, the entire world would know about it by now. He’s probably just putting his backup plans in place, just in case things go wrong here.”

Liz bit her lip. “Are you sure we shouldn’t try to contact him?”

“It’s not worth the risk. Reddington has at least one tracker on me that I know of, and I’m pretty sure at least one of my coworkers is reporting to him. The moment I go outside Roy Baker’s usual haunts, Reddington will be on me like white on rice, whether or not I’m in contact with him.”

“What a charming image.”

Tom rolled his eyes, and wrapped an arm around Liz’s shoulders. She snuggled closer to him, and he felt something tight in his chest slowly start to relax. “This mission is harder than I expected,” he admitted.

He felt Liz’s hair brush his jaw as she glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sighed and let himself relax into the side of the bed.

A second later, something poked into his ribs. “Ow! Liz?”

“Don’t make me ask.” Liz’s voice softened. “I’m your handler now, remember? I have to know what kind of missions you like.”

Tom felt a silly grin creep over his face. He’d used the word a few times, but this was the first time Liz had ever called herself Tom’s handler.

That right there made this whole mission worth it.

Unfortunately, Liz hadn’t gotten any more patient during her time on the run and a second sharp stab in his ribs brought him back to the conversation at hand. “It’s the length. This is just taking too damn long.”

“I feel your pain,” Liz said. “Is this your longest mission?”

“You were longer,” Tom pointed out.

Liz poked him in the ribs again.

“Ow! Stop that! Your nails are sharp, you know.”

“If you’d just answer my questions, I wouldn’t have to keep reminding you to talk,” Liz said sweetly.

Tom huffed and held Liz a little tighter, which felt amazing and, incidentally, made it almost impossible for Liz to get a good poking angle. “No, this is not my longest assignment. You were my longest assignment, but there were a couple of others that were longer than this one.”

Liz hummed thoughtfully. “What makes a longer mission harder?”

“Nothing, usually. Actually, I used to like long missions. More time to work the mark, more time to get used to my cover. And it’s not like I had anything better going on in my life.”

Liz looked up sharply at that. Tom quickly added, “And the pay for long missions is fantastic – not just the money for the mission, but usually a retainer on top to keep you from accepting flash missions.”

“Flash missions?”

“Short-term assignments; usually not more than a few hours. Overnight at the longest.”

“And what can you do in a few hours?” Liz asked incredulously.

Tom didn’t bother to answer.

After a few seconds, Liz said, “Oh.” She hesitated before asking the inevitable: “How many people have you killed?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that, Liz?”

There was a long pause. “Yeah,” she said finally. “I think I do.”

Tom let out a long, slow breath. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Or the answer he was hoping for, if he was being honest with himself.

Liz was his handler, though, and his wife. If she asked, she deserved to know.

“All right,” he said, letting her go and standing up. “But let me get us some food first. This is going to take a long time.”

~~~

It was nearly three in the morning when Tom finished. He and Liz had migrated through the evening until they were now sitting on opposite sides of the large room that made up the apartment. Liz was still facing him, which he thought was a good sign, but he couldn’t help but notice the literal distance she’d put between them as the night – and Tom’s list of crimes – lengthened.

There was silence for almost a minute after Tom finished his recitation of Christof Mannheim’s misdeeds. Tom took the time to look Liz over. She didn’t look good – there were dark circles under her eyes and her skin was too pale.

“Jesus,” she finally said.

Tom flinched, but kept silent.

Liz let out an abrupt laugh, which sounded just a little hysterical. “Reddington did say you were the best.”

“I was,” Tom said quietly. “I am.”

“Yeah.” Liz took a deep breath. “Well. It’s not like I’m in a position to throw stones. I killed Connolly in cold blood.”

“He was threatening you. He was threatening the country.”

Liz looked him in the eye for the first time in over an hour. “We all have our excuses.”

Tom just tilted his head down. Not necessarily in agreement. Merely acknowledgement.

Liz took a breath so deep it was audible from the other side of the room. “And now that I’m your handler, any kills you do now are on me.”

Tom opened his mouth to disagree, then closed it again without saying anything. She wasn’t wrong.

“Okay.” Liz got up on her hands and knees, keeping herself below the window sills as she crossed the room. Tom watched her warily, not sure where this was headed.

She ended up sitting next to him, but left a more than a foot separating them. That couldn’t be a good sign.

Then Liz grabbed his sleeve and pulled.

Weak with relief, it was easy to fall over and rest his head in her lap. When her fingers ran gently through his hair, he had to close his eyes to hold back tears. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” she said back softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

It was an impossible promise, but when Liz said it, Tom believed.

~~~

“It’s going to be okay,” Amelia said for the fifth time in as many minutes. “My dad’s going to love you.”

The more she repeated this assurance, the less reassured Roy was. “It’s just dinner, right?” he offered.

“Right.” Amelia took a couple of too-fast breaths. “And it’s going to be okay.”

Roy forced a smile and gripped the wheel of the car with both hands, tight enough that his knuckles were white.

Amelia opened her mouth _again_ , and Roy hastily cut her off. “So, uh, now that I’m going to meet him, can you tell me why this dinner is such a big deal? I mean, who is your dad, anyway?”

“Oh, well, he’s a general, actually and... well... he’s actually pretty important.”

Roy listened halfheartedly while Amelia described her father – no new information, Tom noted; Reddington knew more about General Eichhart than Amelia did – and tried to pay attention to the road.

It was difficult, however. There were so many ways this could go wrong.

~~~

“So you’re the man who stole my little girl’s heart.”

“Ah, yes, sir, I guess.” Roy turned away from Amelia’s (intimidating, overbearing, and highly unimpressed) father and offered Amelia a smile. She managed a grimace in return.

( _Sightlines, goddamn it! Didn’t this house have_ any _sightlines?_ )

Roy turned back to the general. “I’m a lucky man.”

“You certainly are.” The general’s smile was the very personification of genial malevolence. “I trust you’ll never forget it.”

“No, sir. Definitely not.”

An excruciatingly long silence followed.

Amelia was the one to finally break it. “Dad? Aren’t we supposed to be here for dinner?”

The general’s death glare softened as he glanced at his daughter. “You are.” He turned back to Roy, the glare firmly in place. “You aren’t one of those namby-pamby vegetarians, are you?”

“Uh, no. Sir.”

“Good. Follow me.”

The general went through the door that led to the foyer and, just beyond that, the dining room. Roy followed, already counting the seconds when this evening from hell would be over. Behind him, he heard Amelia hurrying to catch up and he quickened his pace. He didn’t want Amelia to see his face right now.

Two feet from the dining room, the general’s head exploded.

Roy felt his heart stutter and he instinctively turned to the window. Sure enough, there was a tiny hole in the glass, with a small dot of red light flickering over the spiderwebbed pane.

Beside him, he heard Amelia scream. Before he could react, two more holes appeared in the glass and Roy’s chest erupted in a maelstrom of pain. He looked down to see red liquid pouring out of the front of his chest and suddenly his body felt cold.

He was gone before he hit the floor.


	43. Denouement

Tom woke up in a body bag.

“Fucking Reddington,” he muttered under his breath as he listened to the ambient noise outside the bag. He could tell that he was indoors, but not much else, and for a moment he hesitated. If anyone else had been in charge of this part of the plan, Tom would give it some more time before he revealed himself, but he wouldn’t put it past Reddington to leave Tom in the bag until he starved to death. With that thought in mind, Tom reached into his pocket for Roy Baker’s pocketknife.

It took him a couple of minutes to cut the thick plastic open and kick himself free. He was just piling the bag in the corner of what looked to be a high end hotel room when the door opened and Mr. Kaplan stepped in. She frowned at the bag. “I was planning on reusing that.”

Tom would have snarked back at Reddington, but he wasn’t quite stupid enough to do that to Mr. Kaplan. Instead he pulled off his blood-drenched shirt and poked at the massive bruises spreading across his chest. “Was this really necessary?”

She looked distinctly unimpressed at both the question and Tom’s chest. “Roy Baker was killed by a high-powered rifle. Replicating that effect—”

“Amelia doesn’t have the first idea what a bullet impact from a high-powered rifle looks like.”

“She does now.”

That hung in the air for a moment before Mr. Kaplan added, “There are clothes for you in the dresser. I’ll dispose of what you’re currently wearing.”

Tom glanced at the dresser, and looked back at Mr. Kaplan. “Is Amelia okay?”

“She just saw her father and her fiancé killed in front of her.”

That was a “no.” Tom sighed. “Is she at least safe?”

“She’s under no suspicion, either from the police or from the remaining remnants of the Cabal.”

Tom frowned. “Remnants of the Cabal? I thought Eichhart was the last one.”

“I’ll leave the explanations up to Raymond.”

Mr. Kaplan smiled tightly and left.

Tom went to the dresser and pulled out button down shirt and jeans. Basic, but functional. Undoubtedly Mr. Kaplan’s doing.

Once he was dressed, he sat back down on the bed and thought about what happened next.

Amelia was safe, if traumatized, and she’d get a hefty inheritance from her father. She’d be fine in the long run.

Oliver was... still a dangerous asshole. Tom would have to check with Liz and see what they could do about that.

As far as Liz went, last Tom had heard she was still on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, so even if the Cabal wasn’t after her anymore, she couldn’t exactly surface in the United States. On the other hand, Reddington had been up to _something_ the last couple of months; maybe Liz was in the clear there as well.

He wasn’t going to get any answers sitting here on this bed waiting for Liz to show up. Reluctantly, Tom went out the door. He wasn’t surprised to find a lavish sitting area on the other side and, sure enough, there was Reddington, sprawled out on the couch.

“Where’s Liz?”

Reddington had the gall to look put-upon. Asshole. “Lizzie is fine. Dembe’s driving her here as we speak.” His lips twisted into that sarcastic smirk that always made Tom want to punch him in the mouth. “While we’re waiting, I thought you and I could have a little chat.”

Tom raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

Reddington raised his eyebrows right back.

Tom sighed and sat down on the fancy sofa opposite Reddington. “Is Liz still wanted by the FBI?”

“For now. Hopefully I’ll have a different answer for you in an hour or two.”

“Because Eichhart’s dead?”

“Because I now have leverage on someone well-placed in the executive office.”

“As in the White House office?”

“Yes.”

Tom sank back into the couch, the sudden release of months worth of tension leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. “So Liz is safe.”

“Safe from prison, at any rate.” Reddington paused and the frustration that flashed across his face looked surprisingly authentic. “I wasn’t able to get the charges dropped completely. She won’t be able to work for the FBI again.”

Which meant she wouldn’t have the inherent protections that came with working for the FBI – a private citizen was far more vulnerable than an FBI agent. “Are you hiring me again?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t like you, Tom, and if I thought I’d have any chance of success, I’d forbid Lizzie from seeing you.”

Tom smirked.

Reddington rolled his eyes. “I have, however, accepted that this is not a passing fancy on Lizzie’s part.”

Tom’s smirk slid into a scowl. “It’s not a passing fancy for me, either.”

“Trust me, I’m aware of that. If I’d thought otherwise, Ms. Zhang would not have been shooting blanks tonight.”

That... almost sounded like a blessing. By Reddington’s standards, anyway. “So now what? You want me to keep her safe?”

“You won’t be able to keep her safe. Not from the enemies I still have.”

“But...” Tom thought about what Reddington had said before about breaking the back of the Cabal and about Mr. Kaplan’s words in the bedroom. “You’re taking over the Cabal.”

Reddington tilted his head forward slightly.

“Shit. Does Liz know about this?”

“No, and you aren’t going to tell her.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

“Because one of you needs to know that my reach has expanded significantly.”

In case they had to go to Reddington for help. Tom would have liked to throw that offer back in Reddington’s face, but he wasn’t an idiot. Everyone in the world now knew how important Liz was to Reddington, which meant every person Reddington had ever pissed off and screwed over would now be gunning for her. Tom wasn’t about to put Liz’s life at risk just for the opportunity to tell Reddington to go fuck himself.

Although... “Why can’t I tell Liz the truth?”

“Because she’d refuse to accept help from me in the future if she knew I’d be using the Cabal to help her.”

That was probably a fair point, but still – Liz wasn’t stupid. “She’s going to make the connection eventually.”

“Not if she’s busy focusing on other things.”

Tom stared, hoping he’d misheard.

“Not that,” Reddington said irritably. “Missions. I know you’ve already discussed it with her.”

They hadn’t discussed it in so many words, but Liz had acknowledged that she was Tom’s handler. “What kind of missions?”

“Orphans in Sri Lanka, mobsters in Italy, taking down Putin. Honestly, I don’t care as long as she stays safe and keeps moving.”

Tom opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the front door opening. Liz burst in and looked around. “Tom!”

He barely had a chance to get to his feet before Liz threw herself into his arms. Closing his eyes he hugged her close. “Are you okay?”

She laughed, though her voice sounded a little watery. “I’m fine. Are you? When Reddington said he was going to fake your death, I wasn’t sure he’d really stick to the ‘fake’ part.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Tom said with a grin. It was easy to smile about it now that he had Liz again.

Liz pulled back and turned to Reddington. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Lizzie.” He gestured at the couch. “Please, sit down. There are a few things we need to discuss.”

Liz sat down warily. Tom sat as close to her as he could get away with and felt a surge of triumph when she took his hand. “This is about Connolly, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Reddington took a deep breath. “You’ve been partially cleared in Tom Connolly’s death.”

Liz sat up a little. “You got me cleared? How?”

“Partially cleared. In a few minutes, the White House is going to hold a press conference stating that Connolly was planning an imminent terrorist attack on US soil.”

“So, the truth,” Tom said flatly.

“A modified version of the truth. It was enough to allow them to drop the charges, as long as you followed a few conditions.”

Liz slumped again. “I can’t work for the FBI anymore, can I?”

“No. And, strictly speaking, you’re supposed to undergo psychiatric evaluation and treatment.”

“For how long?”

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t be doing it. We can’t risk you being locked in one place for any length of time, not now.”

Liz glanced at Tom and then back at Reddington. “I thought I was safe now.”

“You’re safe from the Cabal. My other enemies, on the other hand...”

“They know about me now,” Liz said softly. She sighed. “So we go on the run again.”

“I was thinking something a little more structured,” Reddington said. “After all, I still have the Blacklist.”

Tom watched Liz as that sank in and her whole face lit up with fierce determination.

Christ, she was beautiful.

“All right,” Liz said, leaning forward. “But if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it on my terms.”

Tom grinned and leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he watched Liz and Reddington do battle.

This was going to be fucking amazing.


	44. Epilogue

The Major was having a miserable day. The diamond heist he’d been working on had gone spectacularly to shit when Gina’s partner had flubbed his lines. Gina had made it out, but the dumb fuck she’d recruited had ended up in jail and had to be silenced. That had taken money the Major really wasn’t in a position to spend, not to mention a favor he hadn’t expected to use quite so soon.

Gina’s snide comment that Jacob could have pulled the job off just made things a hundred times worse. Unfortunately her face was too valuable for him to have taught her the lesson he’d truly wanted to convey, but he’d been in the business long enough to learn a few tricks. Gina wouldn’t be so mouthy in the future.

As for Jacob... the Major snarled under his breath. Tom Keen had dropped off the face of the earth so thoroughly that the Major would have thought he was on assignment, except that Jacob had never had the gift of handling his own assignments and it wasn’t like anyone else was stupid enough to touch Jacob now, not while the Major had a hit out on him.

It probably meant that Jacob was dead, which wasn’t terrible, except for the fact that the Major had really wanted the satisfaction of killing Jacob himself. Slowly and painfully, if at all possible, and preferably just after killing that bitch Elizabeth Keen while Jacob watched.

The Major was still entertaining bloody fantasies when he walked into his house. He didn’t notice someone else was there until the door shut behind him and cold metal pressed up against his neck.

“Hello, Bud,” a hauntingly familiar voice said.

The Major looked up to see Jacob Phelps leaning against the doorway into the living room. “You!”

“Me,” Jacob said agreeably. “And I brought someone.”

The metal at the Major’s neck bit in slightly as the person holding the weapon stepped into his line of sight.

“Oh shit,” he breathed.

“Major Bud McCready, I’d like you to meet Elizabeth Keen.”

The Major’s eyes skittered away from Keen’s glacial expression to send a pleading look at Jacob.

“Don’t mind me,” Jacob said with a gentle smile. “Liz is the one with the mission. I’m just here for cleanup.”

The Major looked back at Keen. She curved her lips in a terrifying approximation of a smile. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Tom has told me so much about how you raised him.”

She leaned forward, the tip of her knife digging into the soft flesh under his chin. “Let’s have a conversation about that, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Thank you so much for reading:)


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